Warsongs and Angelspells
by Lyralamora
Summary: The thieving, insensible, morally corrupt Balthier is faced with a dilemma. Feeling responsible for a friend's calamity, he now has to face up to the consequences. This is a story about pirates and soul-eaters search for a happy end.
1. Why did you come

**A/N: **Ashe asks Balthier why he came with her. That brings Balthier to reminisce over a conversation with Penelo. The scene is inspired by Final Fantasy IX (Zidane and Daggers conversation in the black mage village). It was what led me to write "A place to call home" and "Solace", but for some reason I never posted it. But never mind, here it is now.

While this story will follow the outline plot of the game, it will be a slight AU. You have been warned.

**Disclaimer: **Final Fantasy XII is the property of Square Enix.

WARSONGS AND ANGLESPELLS

Chapter one – Why did you come

"So, why did you come?"

Ashe's eyes glimmered in the light from the campfire between them. They were alone on their own little island of light. Out there, in the darkness somewhere, the others slept soundly in their tents. But for the two people by the fire, it was as if the world ended right outside their little haven of light. Only the waves of the Phon Coast and the stars above them reminded them that they were not alone in the world.

In her hands, Ashe twisted the sword of kings. It was too large, too heavy in her slight hands. She barely had the strength to lift it.

Balthier sat opposite of her, scrutinizing the flames, pondering today's events and his own confession.

"Why did you stay with me?"

That was the second time someone had asked him that question in so many days. He hadn't known what to answer the first time. Or rather, his answer had been met with doubt, which in turn had made him question his own reasoning. His memory pulled him back to that moment; a vivid image of entwining branches and falling leaves.

***

She had been standing unaccompanied on the sunny path. Around her towered the heavy canopies and dark, mossy trunks of the Salika forest. There was an opening in the tree-crown, allowing for some light to trickle through the leaves. It illuminated the trail and made the cloudless sky high above them visible for the first time in days.

They had split up not long before to find the missing moogle workers. He had naturally teamed up with Fran, but after a while they had split up as well, non of them really in need of assistance from the other against the fiends of this forest. He had been trotting absentmindedly, made less attentive by the tranquil green light, taking little heed of nether the plants crushed underneath his feet, nor the friendly fiends scurrying out of his way. As he had been striding through a hedgerow and onto a new path, he spotted her.

Penelo, obviously caught under the forest's lethargic spell, did not notice him. She stood quite still in the middle of the trail, her head tilted upwards. Her face bathed in the rare sun-rays, eyes closed. She looked so peaceful and calm that it felt like he was somehow intruding on a very private moment. Balthier was about to open his mouth and greet her, make her couscous of his presence. But after a moment he thought better of it. As it were, he'd never really taken any heed to others privacy before.

He had never truly taken the time to look at her, observe her properly. Her childish nature (that her friendship with Vaan could only enhance) made her seem so much younger than she was. But now, when she stood there, all calm and sense, without a hint of her usual smiles or curious eyes, Balthier could for the first time fully appreciate her as a girl of seventeen. Only five years younger than himself. Certainly a lot older than he had been when he first began to dabble in piracy.  
He recalled Vaan telling him they had been orphans for quite some time. That they'd had to fend for them selves for years. She had lost her family, her home, most of her friends. Her life had been left in shambles by the war. And yet … She, who should have carried so much bitterness and sorrow, looked nether sad, nor vengeful. One could even go as far as saying that the war was responsible for one of her most commending traits. Her responsible, sensible childishness. He supposed it was because she'd been forced to grow up so quickly; a child one moment, an adult the next. Without going through the stages a normal girl would do. Her notions of romance or sexuality had been left unexplored. And that, in turn, left her remarkably innocent for a girl at seventeen.

The sun's bright, golden rays gave her pale skin a glowing appearance. Only her protruding cheekbones were cast in shadow by her long, lush eyelashes. An involuntary smile played about her lips, underlining that innocence that he had been contemplating. She looked truly happy, contented. As if nothing bad ever had or ever could touch her.

As he stood there, only a few paces away, observing the young girl, he also became docile and relaxed. They must have looked absolutely ridiculous. She, gawking at the sun, and him ogling her. Both deep in thought. So isolated and alone, even if mere paces separated them.

At last she turned her head and opened her eyes, blinking a little as if just waking up.

"Penelo." He immediately began walking towards her, appearing as though he'd only just got there. "I see you have separated from Vaan. A wise choice, though I can't say I approve of you standing here all alone."

She gave him a sweet smile. Her eyes glimmered playfully, and suddenly she was a child again.

"Oh, I'm stronger than I look."

"Sometimes strength isn't enough, my darling. You need cunning and experience. Not to mention to keep your guard up at all times. Standing with your eyes closed in the middle of the path simply won't do," Balthier coaxed.

She didn't even condescend to give his remark an answer, and they walked together in companionable silence.

Balthier noted Penelo's enthusiasm and curiosity. Her head turned this way and that as she observed the delicate flowers, the branch on which they walked, and the leaf -covered ground far below them. Her curiosity was never sated. She was an adventurer indeed. By that thought he was reminded that he had never gotten around to ask her the question he had posed to Vaan.

"So, Penelo. Please enlighten me; your generous nature would never allow you to do this for money. You don't have a kingdom to win back. You're not avenging anybody, nor have you sworn loyalty to any cause or country. So, what is it you want?"

"What I want?"

"Surely you have some reason for joining in on this foolish venture?"

Her eyes broke from the exotic plants she had been scrutinizing, and she looked up at him, her blue eyes wide with wonder.

Then, all of a suddenly she tensed. Her arm flew to her hip, searching for the weapon there. One practiced motion and then she drew out her gun. A heavy, impractical thing, not at all suited for someone of her slight built.  
In one swift, elegant movement she had taken aim at something behind him and taken her shot. He spun on his heel to find a malboro sinking into a puddle on the ground, releasing it's dying fumes.

'So much for keeping ones guard up,' he though. Vaan would never let this go once Penelo told him. Oh, gods! And he who had thought that there were no earthly way for that boy to get any more annoying.

"Maybe I'm not the only one in need of aid? I don't think it's wise for you to wander alone ether, Balthier."

She tilted her head, mimicking his trait expression and grinned up at him.

"I think, my dear, we must get back to the others."

She only nodded. They turned on the path and began walking towards the outskirts of the forest.

"So, you never told me," he began, trying to ease the tension (his tension). "What are you doing here?"

"Oh … well. I don't know. I suppose I just don't want to be alone anymore."

"Alone …?" He haltered, quirking an eyebrow quizzically. "But surely you had lots of friends in Rabanastre. Vaan …-"

"Yes," she interrupted him. "Yes, I had many friends. And I lost many friends. Some in the war. Some in the aftermath. Ailments from living on the streets. Some were adopted, some ended in the Nabradia dungeon from resistance attempts- like Vaan. I've known him all my life. I can't loose him too."

She stared up at him, eyes fierce with resolve. "Nether of you. Travelling with my friends makes me happy. You're all the closest I've got to a family, and helping you makes me happy. Besides," she continued, regaining her previous ease, "Someone has to take care of Vaan."

Balthier was pondering her answer when she spoke again.

"But why are you here, Balthier? What is it that you want?"

"You already know that. I'm a pirate. This is my life."

"But if you really cared about money, you wouldn't have become a pirate in the first place. You would just stay with your father."

"Ah, yes. But you see I had no freedom there. And in any case, I couldn't bring myself to stay when I so fully disagreed with their politics."

"So, you're here to do the right thing. Righting your wrongs?"

"No, no." He threw his hands up in the air in an exasperated gesture. Why was she so eager to believe him a good man?

"No, I'm here because I'm paid to be here. Nothing more."

"If you say so," she said, but he could tell that she didn't believe him. This was the reason why he usually stayed clear of teenage girls. They had a tendency to make a hero of him. And a hero and a leading man were, despite popular misunderstanding, not in the _least_ the same thing.

"So why do you think I'm here?"

"I suppose your searching for something. You, as the rest of them."

"Searching? For what?" he couldn't help the condescending quality that crept into his voice.

"Well, Ashe is searching for means to restore her kingdom. Basch, well, he's looking to prove his loyalty. Redeem his brother's crime. Fran search for answers; why she had to leave. And Vaan, he's searching for himself."

"And what am I searching for?"

"I don't know you all that well. If I had to guess I would say that you're looking for what you've never had. A place to call home."

"Home?" He had stopped on the path, staring down at her.

"I'm afraid you're entirely wrong. I have a home. This," he threw out his arms, indicating to the world around them. "This is my home. All of Ivalice."

"I mean a place were you belong. Perhaps that's with us. Perhaps that's why you stayed?"

They had reached the outskirts of the forest. He could glimpse the closed gate and the waiting party through the branches.

"Balthier. It doesn't matter what I say. I don't know you well enough. But don't be so set on being egocentric. And anyway, does it really matter?" she motioned to their waiting companions. "We're not alone anymore. None of us will truly be alone again."

***

Now he wasn't certain what he had come any more. The money, the freedom? The stone? The princess? Or was he indeed searching, like Penelo had said?

"I can't tell you what possessed me to come. Why I left the comforts of my own life behind. But," he continued, lifting his gaze to meet hers. "I stayed, only because I wanted to be with you."

Part of him only said it to wipe the grim expression of her face. To make things a little less hard. He was eager to keep the peace that had erupted between them that afternoon as he had made his confession.

But it was also true, in its way. He wasn't restless anymore. He had stopped searching. For the first time he was comfortable standing still. Or, in this case, sitting - opposite of the Princess of Dalmasca.


	2. Company

**A/N:** So, I decided to make the one-shot into a wip! Also note that I have changed the rating and title.  
Balthier is having trouble keeping his women happy. Hope you enjoy, and please review!

**Disclaimer: **Final Fantasy XII is the property of Square Enix. I've only borrowed Balthier and co. to play with for a while.

Chapter two – Company

I

Penelo's smile was sweet, but her eyes severe, as she looked up at him.

They stood by a stream, on the sloping hills of the Thicka Uplands. The sky was overcast, white with clouds, a light drizzle making the world around them damp and glistening. A fresh scent hung in the air, brought on by the continuing rain. White fog enveloped them, making it difficult to see far; they had already lost sight of the rest of the party. The only thing that marred this romantic imagery was the wound on his arm, inflicted by the dead malborogh at his side.

"What do you need, Balthier?"

Oh, what memories those words brought with them. Memories of beautiful bar wenches, and lonely wives. But also a caring mother and a distant father. The little lady currently staring up at him was, however, none of these things.

"Why, only your love, darling," he replied smugly.

With that her worried frown and creased forehead was replaced by a look of both irritation and amusement.

"Never mind."

With a little flicker of her braids, she spun around and followed Vaan, Fran and Basch down the stream they were following. He looked after her, appraising her behind with a lift of an eyebrow, only to be caught by the princess herself. She walked up alongside him with measured steps and a slight quirk of her lips.

"She poses and intriguing query."

This time the force of his eyebrow was directed at her.

"What sort of spell would be best to cure this scratch? Intriguing indeed."

He indicated the wound he had contracted when warding off another malborogh. They were currently making their way across the Thicka Uplands. Thought the fresh grass and bouts of rain was a pleasant change from the continual sun at the Phon Coast (a place in which they had been stuck for far too long), the fiends made their stroll arduous. Not that he minded a little excitement and target practice, or even a few scratches here and there. But every time a malborogh reared its ugly head, Penelo was by his side.  
She gave him her sweetest of smiles, before hurling herself in the beast's path, killing it off for him. Not only was this rather humiliating, making the appearance that he needed protection from a seventeen year old girl, but it had also completely ruined the effect of her smile. Usually it was something he found great pleasure in coaxing out. But when he at last managed to kill of one of the malboroughs before she got her shot, and she smiled up at him and rather than being pleased, Balthier found himself in visceral caution. As she offered her curing abilities for his service, he found that she had completely ruined it for him.  
She was, of course, reminding him of the incident in the Salika Forest. Not wanting anyone to know of that particular incident, he was now wrapped around her little finger. She knew it, and it made her smile all the wider.

The girl, he conceded, was growing up. The only thing he had now was his blatant sexual overtures. They were enough to replace that smile with embarrassed offence. For now.

But he didn't divulge into this complicated explanation with Ashe.

"Maybe that was what she meant. I was referring to something else entirely."

It was enough to shake of his last thought of the retreating girl, and rather focus his attention on the woman at hand. She was not smiling, not even close. In fact, Balthier rarely ever saw her smile. But he was definitely discerning a wicked glint in her eyes.

"Then, pray tell, what are you referring to?"

"It was not so much a question as a general wonderment…"

She walked up along side him, her eyes seemingly lost in the stream. Where her voice had been flirting a moment ago, it was now suddenly serious. She clutched her right hand in her left, with a continuing stroking movement over the finger that still bore evidence of a ring. He nudged her arm, pulling her with him down the stream, keeping up with the others.

"Oh, I think you know," he grinned, trying in vain to direct their conversation back to more pleasant realms. "Stealing treasure and breaking hearts," he grinned, remaining true to his pathology.

"I wish you would be serious for just a moment," she muttered.

Balthier had expected a little playful banter, but Ashe's disappointed voice did not meet his approbation. Suddenly he wished he could take it back. Since their conversation on the beach, a truce had erupted between them; a peace that had only been enhanced since the night at Phon Coast. He was keen to keep it thus, but feared he'd just broken it with his improper remark.

"My apologies," he mumbled, not knowing what else to say.

She didn't speak, but continued their walk in silence. The others were far ahead of them, long down the trail. How on earth had they gotten that far? The soft ground was slick, but Ashe somehow kept up an admirable pace without slipping. After walking in reticence for some time, she spoke up at last.

"I only wish to keep a serious conversation, Balthier."

He knew that now. The princess was not fond of jokes. He supposed loosing your entire family and kingdom had that effect. Still, he could not understand what it was that she wanted of him. They had barely had any contact since their journey began. She was the undisputed leader, and they had often talked, but it was always an order or a consultation. They had never walked together, talking for the sake of it; he'd never pegged her as that sort of woman. But for some reason this had changed.

"I'm unaccustomed to these sort of conversations," he defended himself.

His voice was cold, and he knew this was certain to enhance the distance between them, the bitter attitude she sometimes held towards him. Her answering "I know," proved his suspicions right. It was as though she held him to a standard that he utterly failed to meet. The encumbrance made him ashamed, but also furthered his anger with her. What was it that she wanted of him?

"You pose a difficult query."

"Not all that difficult. Even Vaan could tell me what he needs," she responded in a slightly softer tone. "But you seem intent on being an enigma."

An enigma. He knew what Penelo would have said. That he didn't want people to know he was a good man. He was glad Ashe held no such ideas, but she did seem to have some expectations of him. How he missed Fran and their companionable silence.

"Have you ever considered that I do not know?"

His voice was harsher than intended. He expected her to really turn on him now, shouting insults before storming off to Basch, who would later chastise him for being rude to the princess. Strangely enough it had the opposite effect.

She turned around to look at him, her eyes apologetic.

"I'm sorry, Balthier. I should not push this matter."

Despite his considerable experience, he decided right at that moment he would never understand women. Just when he though he had her all figured out, she went and did something like this. Suddenly he found himself missing Penelo. Her frankness, her simplicity.

"It's quite alright, my princess. I'm contented with life as it is. I do not feel the urge to always act after a purpose."

She kept staring at him for a moment, her grey sky eyes revealing nothing of what was going on underneath that stoic mask. Then she turned and continued her stroll.

"And yet you came with me?"

It was a challenge. He had thought he dissuaded her when they had talked by the fire a few nights past, when he said that all he knew was that he stayed because he wanted to be with her. Rather crafty, he had to admit, but also true in a way. But it would seem the princess would not let the matter rest.

"I already told you this. I do not know myself… But let me ask you this instead; what do _you_ need?"

Her turn was so sudden that she kicked up muddy patches, staining his trousers. The look of anger that he had long expected, finally came to show.

"You know full well what I need."

He took one step, bringing them closer. He could not match her temper, but his lack of boundaries and obvious interest in her, made her uncomfortable. It was playing dirty, using that card now, but he had no wish to be smothered by her temper.

"What then? Revenge? Power?" he whispered as he leaned in.

The tone of his voice made her blush, her anger deterred for the moment. But her eyes were full of hurt.

"Yes… I do wish to avenge the people who killed my husband. And my father. And all the other innocent people who were ruthlessly slaughtered by the Empire. But power? I simply want things to be put right. I never had any wish to rule."

With that she turned again. But what she had hoped to make an impressive storm-off was effectively ruined as she finally slid on the slick grass. Her expression of indignation was replaced with one of puzzlement, as she fell backwards. Balthier's arms shout out and encircled her, pulling her close. Her body smothered to his, with her face turned upwards, he saw her turn pink by the contact. Despite the situation, he utterly enjoyed the effect he had on her.

"I think," he whispered, taking the opportunity before she collected herself. "That you are frightened. You're scared of the thought of freedom."

She rested a while in his arms, making sure she was properly footed. Then she braced herself against his chest and pushed away, out of his embrace. Stepping backwards she threw out her arms in a sudden gesture.

"Look around, Balthier. Am I not free? What is this," she said, indicating the fields and downs around them with her arms. "What is this, if not freedom?"

She looked strangely wild, standing there in the rain. Her silver-blonde hair was plastered to her cheeks and forehead, her pale skin flushed in distress. Her normally composed figure looked unfamiliar with the thrown-out arms and challenging gaze. Yes, he decided, she was wild, but not free.

"Truly? You truly believe that?"

"I can go wherever I please, and no one has the power to stop me."

"Then," he responded, swiping the water that poured down in ever greater quantities, away from his eyes. "Why don't you?"

She let her hands drop back down to her sides with a wet slop as they hit her thighs.

"I cannot. I have no wish to."

"Why?"

"I already told you. I must avenge my family, my people. Unlike you, I have duties."

"Duties, you say?"

He began walking again, passing her on the trail.

"Yes, duties."

He could glimpse the others, waiting at them at a crossroad. They seemed to be consulting other travellers, presumably for the best place to seek shelter in the night. The sun was already setting, the sky growing darker.

"Then, my princess, perhaps you are not so free after all?"

He quirked an eyebrow, before walking to meet their comrades. Penelo was easily discernible by her smile. Despite the caution her expression brought with it, he found that the smile lit up her entire countenance. Perhaps he was not so unaffected by it after all. Next to him, Ashe huffed and brushed past him to meet up with Basch.

II

The bad weather that had set in that afternoon did not seem to dissipate. In fact, Balthier had a suspicion it would increase with time, only to go away with the release of a storm. The rain and wind had already amplified exponentially.

They had all sought shelter in a nearby cave pointed out for them by the friendly travellers. Granted it was not very big, but spacious enough to host their modest pack. And considering Ashe had thrown him out, under the pretence that he was to "keep guard", there was more than enough room for the other five of them.

He had been sitting perched on a little stone, making the fire and minding his own business, when she had marched over and demanded that he stood guard. It was his turn, after all. The fact that the caves placing made a guard absolutely redundant seemed to elude everyone. At last he yielded, if only for the peace of mind, and left them. He had asked Fran if she wanted to come with. Now, standing in the rain, he recalled her face with perfect clarity, looking at him in disgust. He knew full well it was the though of getting wet that repelled her, not his company. Still, it stung to have his friend abandon him.

Existence seemed dismal, standing there in darkness and rain. He actually didn't mind the wetness as long as a dry set of clothes awaited him. But as he trudged around in water and mud, he knew he would have to endure the coldness and dirt until next city or hamlet.

Had only the sky been clear, then he could see the stars. They always exercised a calming effect on him, the sky pirate that he was. But tonight there were no stars, no moon to light the path, only this abysmal downpour that soaked him to the bone, and the ominous sounds of warsongs somewhere in the dark. The fiends readied for attack, always on the alert for other enemies. Balthier knew he was safe on his little trail. It took quite the climb to get to the cave, far too difficult for any of the fiends here. And the rain washed away their smell in any case. So a guard was quite unnecessary.

As he trudged up and down the trail, waiting for the clouds to lift, he revelled in his own injustice. How badly he had been treated by everyone, how cold he was, and how utterly dismal. It was a wild, delicious enjoyment about it, about feeling so indisputably and tragically in the right. The victim of someone else's wrongdoing.

It was thus Penelo found him, leaning against the wall of stone behind him, sulking in the darkness. With her aptitude for spells, she had summoned a ball of flickering light. She carried it in her hand like a tiny sun.

"There you are," she smiled, waiving the light in his face as if to confirm that it was in fact him, and not some other unfortunate traveller. Her smile widened in triumph. He wondered at her good humour, when she was already as soaked as him. Her braids hung heavily, her bangs pushed impatiently to the sides. But though the little patch of pink on her nose revealed how cold she was, she seemed perfectly happy in the rain.

"Yes, indeed. Here I am," he answered grumpily.

"I just wanted to cheek up on you…" she mumbled, a little put off by his peevishness.

"You missed me, I understand. And though I would love nothing more than to escort you back and help keep you warm during the night, I do not think your boyfriend would approve."

Once he had spoken the words, he wished he could take them back. It was, after all, not Penelo who had sent him out in the rain. He should not vent his anger onto her. But her rebuke was not the hurt "goodbye" he'd been expecting.

"Vaan is not my boyfriend…"

"Is that an invitation?"

He grinned at her, stepping closer. She blushed and shook her head vigorously.

"That was not what I meant. I just… it was really unfair of her to send you out like that."

His grin became softer, a little touched by her concern.

"Well, my darling, you will learn soon enough that life is not fair."

He stepped past her, walking up the trail again. She turned and followed.

"I know that. Don't you think I know that?"

She wasn't angry. She was never angry, he thought. But there was definitely hurt in her voice. He cursed at himself. Why was it that he kept offending these women? And why were they still so eager to believe the best of him? Well, Penelo was. Balthier was quite certain Ashe thought him a scoundrel. She had after all sent him out here in disgrace.

"Apologies, Penelo. I did not mean that, and I thank you for your concern."

He patted her should lightly.

"But I'm afraid our mighty princess had reason enough to kick me out."

"Oh?" she replied, her ill mood gone at once. "Why?"

"Just… a difference of opinion," he said evasively.

"That conversation you had today?"

"So you noticed that, huh?"

"I sort of kept an eye on you all day."

She smiled at him, reminding him that he had a bone to pick with her as well.

"You know, I'm perfectly able to defend myself from malboroughs. In fact, I would prefer it if you would stop stepping in and saving my hind, chivalrous though it may be."

She blushed again, her eyes sparkling with humour.

"Well, I know how you can be a bit inattentive, Balthier. So I thought I'd watch out for you."

"And sweet as your concern is, I can assure you I have no need of it."

Her smile widened, and he had to wonder at her opinion of him. He had often ill-treated and looked down on her. He had even been reluctant to save her from his own bounty hunters. Though she didn't know that, he recalled, and made up his mind that she never would. But even so, she kept joking with him, coming out in the rain and cold to keep him company. Why? As Balthier had never been one to beat around the bush, he found a direct approach to be the best.

"Why are you here, Penelo?" he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder to halt her.

Their closeness and she light that emanated form her hand, made her blush discernible. He could feel her steady breathing on the nape of his neck, warm against his moist skin.

"What do you mean?" she mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

"I mean why did you abandon the company of proper people keep me company out here in the doghouse?"

"I-… I only wanted to say that I thought it was unfair the way they treated you. Also, I'm sharing sleeping-mats with Vaan, and he can be very restless. I was tired of getting his elbow in my face…"

She was a horrible liar; the averted gaze, the fidgety motions. He needed not have been a former judge to tell that she was not telling the truth. But not wanting to embarrass her further, he let the subject drop. Still, he did not stop pondering her decision. Perhaps he should ask Fran on the morrow.

He had a sneaky suspicion of what it might be though. It had happened before, always leaving him puzzled and slightly anxious, the same feelings that begun creeping up on him now. Because despite his blatant arrogance and egoism, his nasty comments and rude remarks, he believed this sweet, little blond was falling in love with him. Oh, this was bad news. Bad news indeed.

"Well, then. Here we are," he said as they finally reached the cave.

She stepped inside at once, turning around when he did not follow.

"You're not coming in?"

"No… I believe it best to finish my watch. It's a sort of penitence," he muttered, while inwardly cursing the princess. He had, after all, offended her no more than she had offended him. Still, with this humble act, Ashe would soon admit how unreasonable she'd been, and apologize. And apologies from the princess were his favourite kind.

"Very well, then."

She smiled once again and disappeared further into the cave.

"Oh fuck," he whispered, when alone at last. Yup, there it was. The smiles and blushes and kindness beyond anything he deserved. Penelo was in love with him. Had this been anyone else, he would have happily embraced this knowledge, taking full advantage of its perks. Well, almost anyone (he feared the continuing glances from Vaan). But this was Penelo. Sweet, lovely, innocent Penelo. She was happy, contented with her life. And now he had to come swooping in with his thigh leather pants and airship, tempting her with something she could never have. The poor girl never stood a chance.


	3. Thee of little faith

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait between chapters. The story really begins in this one, as they enter the Sochen Cave Palace. Hope you enjoy the story, and the awesomeness that is Balthier!

I must warn that there's a lot of Vaan-hate in this chapter. I really don't hate him that much as it might seem. It just sort of turned out that way.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Final Fantasy XII

Chapter three – Thee of little faith

Fran's expression was a curious mix of amusement and bewildered concern. Standing tall, her figure framed by the dark cave-opening behind her, she appraised her surroundings; the freshness of dawn with it golden sun and dissipating fog, the grass shining with frost, the scent as clear as only a summer morning could be. She looked the very image of harmony and contentment. It was bordering on cliché, her seemingly unabashed appreciation for something as relatively simple as the world at dawn. Scrutinizing a passing blackbird, her eyes following its flight, she turned her head and spotted him at last.

Fran's ears twitched, once, twice, thought her face remained expressionless. He glared up at her from his precarious placing on a rather sharp-edged rock.

"Balthier," she inclined her head in greeting. After a moment of silent appraisement, she spoke again. "May I ask what you are doing?"

"…Standing guard for our beloved princess," he muttered, taking no pains to conceal his fowl mood. This was Fran, after all. "Do I not look the proper sentry to you?"

And there it was; he always knew how to bring it forth, the little hint of amusement that made her eyes sparkle and the corners of her mouth tug upwards.

"Your devotion to the princess do you credit. But perhaps you would like a break and come warm yourself by the fire?"

That, right there, that was why he loved that strange Viera. And though he didn't let the appreciation show through his facade, Balthier knew she was well aware.

"I feel absolutely _dismal_. You will have to help me up."

It was a strange sort of arrangement between the two. It was not often that he acted like a helpless prat. But on those rare occasions he did, it was with good reason. And Fran was friend enough to oblige him. She balanced between the rocks with ease, despite her uncomfortable footwear. Once standing by him, she descended her hands for him to take hold of. He seized them, letting his stiff frame be pulled up by the over-humanly strong Viera.

At the sight of his muddy and strained appearance, her ears twitched more vigorously than ever. She let her amber gaze move down his body, then up again with slow deliberation.

"Well, Balthier… you do not look good."

"Hold your tongue, woman!" he muttered in a halfhearted attempt to start a fight.

"Don't despair. I am certain Penelo will not mind washing your clothes for you."

"I- what?" he spluttered, feeling most undignified. How in Ivalice did she know? Damn that Vieran intuition!

He followed her in reticence to the cave-opening. The others were sleeping still. He had lost track of time during the night, but was not surprised that it was still in the early hours. Fran had always been an early riser.

He sat down, his sore limbs screaming at him for every movement. Huffing irritably, he poked at the embers, trying to wake the fire.

"I assume none of you saw fit to save some food for a poor, starving pirate?"

Fran sat down opposite him, pulling out what was left of last night's meal.

"Thank you," he muttered as she handed it over.

"I believe Penelo is the one you owe your thanks."

"…oh."

He didn't deliberate, but began scoffing down food, too starved to care for his undignified appearance.

"Balthier, be careful."

"Hmpf?" he mumbled through a mouthful. Fran sent him a disgusted glance before continuing.

"I ask you to be careful with her. It is more at stake here than your ego."

"Fran!" he said in mocked surprise. "I'm offended you would think so little of me."

The glance she sent him then was enough to make him abandon his playful banter.

"I know. But honestly Fran, I never encouraged her behavior."

He thought of his unabashed flirting and long looks, but dismissed the thought quickly. He had no qualms about lying to Fran, and besides, it often seemed as though she could see straight into his head anyway. Also there was no way to explain to Fran that his sexual advances towards the girl were to ward her of and keep her from getting the upper hand after that incident in Salika Forest. Fran must never know that he'd needed the aid of a seventeen year-old girl to defeat a malborogh.

"Oh darling, a man like yourself don't have to encourage."

She twitched her ears in amusement, while eyeing him up and down. They both found mutual enjoyment in fueling each others ego.

"Why, Fran. You don't have to work so hard yourself. But seriously," his face grew graver as he decided to put her worries to a rest. "I have no intention of using Penelo. This is different… and besides, I do respect the girl…"

He sent a long glance to where she was sleeping soundly next to Vaan, huddled up in a warm blanket.

"Despite the questionable company she keeps."

"Balthier, I think the only questionable company she keeps, is you."

"Fran, you charmer," he grinned at her, wondering how he'd survived all those years without this wise, helpful, sassy and morally questionable (his favorite combination) friend.

***

"So it's decided then. We'll take the road through the Sochen Cave Palace?"

Basch crouched in front of the fire, peering over a damp map with frayed edges. He had been pointing, flailing his hands about for the better part of a quarter of an hour, pointing out this route and that, comparing them. Balthier quickly lost interest, and suddenly found himself staring unseeingly into the flames.

He thought of everything and nothing, letting the thoughts flow freely through his consciousness. The warmth from the fire seeped into his bones, warming him. The fabric of his clothes only a little damp now. They were still hopelessly dirty, but at the very least he wasn't soaked any more. He was just slipping into a comfortable doze when someone nudged down next to him.

"So what do you think?"

Penelo's wide, blue eyes looked at him expectantly. Balthier felt himself hurtle back from the realms of his mind, to the confines of the cave. The warmth of her body seeped into him, and he suddenly felt himself nudge a little closer before he could think twice about it.

"You will have to specify," he said, hastily trying to cover over his overture towards her.

"About going through the Cave Palace? I thought you didn't like being underground?"

'Like' was somewhat of an understatement. Last time they'd been stuck in some hellish corridor, far beneath the earth, he'd kicked someone or something in frustration, cursing caves, corridors and miners that had decided to build that far beneath the ground. What he couldn't stand was the entrapment. Not being able to see the sky, or roam about freely as one wished. Only endless darkness, fiends lurking around every corner. And soon, he realized, he would have to go through it all again.

Penelo's giggle brought him back to the present.

"Didn't you pay attention to Basch at all? We've decided we're taking the route through the Cave Palace," she explained, interpreting his blank expression correctly.

"Well, that is by far the safest route. And I will certainly appreciate an opportunity to dry up properly."

He shot a glance at Ashe just as she looked up. She stared back, apparently enjoying his indignation, allowing a small smile, before resuming her packing.

"It's raining again."

Penelo called his attention back to herself. If he had known Penelo to be constitutionally incapable of jealousy, he would have thought that was what it was. Nevertheless, the development in her attitude worried him. He supposed he should be flattered by her blatant admiration. Perhaps even love. But having often weighed the merits of solitude and company, he found the first always won out. He had no wish for a woman tying him down. So why could he not stop this incessant flirting.

"Indeed?"

Sitting there, huddled up by the fire, with everyone busy pacing, Balthier allowed himself another slip of self-control. He wasn't certain if it was the fire, or the gushing storm outside, but suddenly he found himself edging closer towards her, letting his hand flutter ever so lightly over her thigh.

Penelo was worldly enough to merely pretend not to notice, thus allowing his advances. But as he let his hand travel over her warm, soft skin, his eyes suddenly caught the Viera. Fran was standing, arms crossed in her usual reticent pose. There was no mistaking the look she sent him. 'Back off or I'll make you'. He'd seen it plenty of times before, and had learned that it was best to comply. Balthier felt the sudden, raging need to act, to do something. Anything. To run and run and never look back. To kill every find within a ten mile radius. In stead he withdrew his hand and stood rapidly. Penelo looked confused at his sudden rebuff, but didn't say anything as he stepped through the cave to his admonishing friend.

***

There was only one thing remotely positive about the situation, Balthier reflected while surveying the Cave Palace, its looming entrance swallowing every trace of light. At least it would give shelter to the downpour that had persisted since its short break the previous night.

Though the rest of the party was just as wet, they were nowhere near as miserable. Balthier honestly couldn't remember a time were he had been continually soaked for this many hours straight. He overlooked that one incident in Giza during the rain season, since the whole escapade was something he denied to having been part of anyways. He saw no reason to suddenly take heed to the memory now and bash his feeling of utter misery.

He followed the others, his cold and stiff limbs keeping his initial reluctance to a minimum. The first step into the cave was a relief as he felt the pounding rain begin to subside. Without the continuing dripping down his back, his mood raised slightly.

Something snapped loudly under his foot, the sound echoing between the walls of the vast chamber. After another few steps, he understood that the continuing snapping came from the bones scattered over the floor. They were all animal-bones. He still wasn't able to keep the hair in his neck from standing on end. Vaan was the first to voice everybody's thoughts.

"You sure this rabbit hole is really the way into Archadies?"

Even though no one thought as little of the plan as Balthier, the brash young man never failed to annoy him. For even he, with his aversion to underground caves with all its lurking fiends and mazelike layouts, recognized this as their best option. And so he complied without complaint. Unlike the would-be pirate, who's stupidity never seized to amaze.

"Better a hare unseen than a rat in a trap. Then again, if you prefer go knocking on the front gates of the city, be my guest."

The young man shot him an apologetic stare underneath his bangs. He shuffled his feet a little, and Balthier was pleased to see he'd made the boy uncomfortable. Penelo walked up next to her childhood friend, and grabbed his arm supportively.

"But what about once we're inside? Won't the city watch find us?"

"We'll do what we can to blend into the crowd. Our names may be notorious, but our faces are not far known," Ashe explained patiently.

"True, true. You're a princess, and even we didn't recognize you," Vaan said, obviously not having learned his lesson about keeping his moth shut. The easily offended princess stiffened as she drew herself up in full height.

"I noticed."

She walked off, not bothering to conceal her almost childlike offence. While the others hung back, Balthier seized this opportunity to run after her for a private chat.

"You know," he murmured once he'd caught up with her, "that is not entirely true."

"What is?" Ashe snapped, not having obtained her good humor.

"Well," he grinned, sidestepping another bonepile, "though you have not taken the time to step outside your beloved Dalmasca, there are those amongst us that are slightly more experienced."

The princess frowned, not immediately grasping his meaning.

"And how does your piracy make me wrong?" she challenged.

"Ah, well you see when you say that our faces are not far known, you are not entirely in the right."

Something dawned on her face, and Balthier had the pleasure of watching her frown melt away in comprehension. As she came to understand his meaning, that very rare look of kind apology spread. Though there could be no doubt about her beauty, these were the only times he allowed himself to appreciate it. Still, he remained remiss as to what prompted this welcomed expression.

"My apologies, Balthier. I have been negligent."

"Negligent…?"

"You are Archadian. I forgot. I am sorry, but we will do our best to conceal you."

"Oh… Yes, thank you. That is most kind." He smiled, and nodded his head in a more formal sort of gratitude. His mind, however, was reeling. Ashe had made no pains to conceal her opinion of him. The spell of tranquility they had woven that night at Phon Coast had quickly snapped. He still had a soaking, mud-spattered attire to show for it. And yet she would put her royal hind through any sort of trouble for him.

After a moments thought he allowed himself another smile. A real one. Ashe smiled back, her eyes filling with warmth before she returned to her pragmatic self. Strolling forth with brisk determination, they had soon past the moderately alight entrance. For every step it grew darker, the air denser. It became impossible for them to distinguish the fiends from the shadows. Thus they progressed through the Sochen Cave Palace.

***

As they made their steady way past the Sochen sentries, and further into the depths of the cave, Balthier found that this easily ranked amongst the top three of all-time worst underground 'rabbit wholes' as Vaan so eloquently phrased it.

The structure was a disturbing mix of elegant stone-work, showing traces of old Archadian architecture, and the wildness where nature had been allowed to take it's coarse. The fiends within, however, progressed without heed for what was what. And the Palace, which at some point must have been quite impressive, now had been allowed to wither away.

It left him with a feeling of nostalgia, thinking what this place once must have been. 'How the mighty have fallen,' he thought with a wry smile.

Still, despite Balthier's sour disposition, they all managed quite well. The cure spells were few and far between, and the loot they picked up would give them ample gil to restock once they reached the imperial city.

"Is that really necessary, Balthier?"

A softly reproachful voice cut through his musings.

"What was that dear?"

Looking up and squinting through the darkness, he recognized the contour as Penelo. The way she held her hands, propped up at her sides, told him that she was not quite pleased. Or as displeased as that girl ever got.

"What was that, darling?"

Oh, damnit! He would really have to stop using that tone with her, unless he wanted ending up hurting her and consequently wind up being shunned and loathed by his other party-members.

"Do you have to kill every animal you happen to come across? Have you no heart?"

"Uh… I… I'm not certain I understand."

His mind reeled as he thought of what she had said. It was, he believed, the first time she'd ever truly criticized him.

"The friendly fiends. Why do you slaughter them down?"

She stepped closer, kneeling down to the animal he'd just finished of. Her legs sank down in the slippery, muddy ground. Apparently she didn't mind getting dirty. Her sword was discarded casually, as if it was not of the most vital importance.

She reached out her hand for the fluffy, white animal at her feet, lacing them into its fur. The bright red blood staining the whiteness also tainted her hands.

"Penelo," he stepped forward, putting a hand on her shoulder, nudging her up. "It's a fiend. You don't have to look so sad."

She didn't comply to his gentle pressure, but turned her head and looked at him. The fierceness of her eyes shone through the darkness.

"It wasn't hurting anyone. It was just an animal. Like us."

"Darling, I think we're both a little more then a lump of fur."

But that was obviously not the right thing to say. He had hoped the innocuous comment would lighten her mood, but it only made her angrier.

"It's not a lump of fur. It is a living creature. Just because you don't like it, doesn't mean it deserves to die." She stood swiftly, and stepped towards him. Her fury that was so rare made her adorable in a strange way. To see the indignation and care she carried for that fiend. As that moment in the Salika forest, he was reminded of her age. That she was in fact more woman than girl. That she had opinions and wishes and ambitions and drives, just like any other. He couldn't help but voice his thoughts.

"You really are quite lovely when you're mad," he grinned.

"Don't patronize me, you pirate scum!"

Though the insult was moderately mild compared to what one of his occupation usually faced, the storm off that followed it was rather surprising. He could see her braids flicker through the dark when she walked away, as if they too were indignant.

In the time to come, Balthier had spent hour after hour going over what happened. And though all the 'what if's' plagued him to the point of insanity, he couldn't help but think how badly they'd all screwed up.

Balthier knelt and gathered the rest of the loot. He didn't bother running after Penelo. He was probably not very popular with her to begin with, recalling his rebuff in the cave earlier that day. So Balthier decided it would be better to simply leave her alone. She was probably off with Vaan anyway.

However, when he caught up with the others, she was not there. They had reached a little stream. It ran merrily through the cave, cutting the aria in two. The waterfalls that emanated from some place high above crashed down with immense noise. They all stood there, a little bemused at the sight of streams and waterfalls, trying to think of a way across and communicating over the loud noise that echoed back from every wall.

Reaching the stream, he saw Vaan standing with Basch. From the looks of it, he was comparing the size of their swords and Balthier could feel himself cringe. Basch didn't seem to mind though. Fran was consulting with the princess, presumably finding the best way to cross. But there stood no merry blonde next to them.

"Where is Penelo?" he asked as he walked up next to the two women.

That caught everyone's attention. Ashe, who had been busy testing out the ramshackle bridge in front of them, turned with a worried frown.

"I though she was with you."

"Obviously not," he said, lifting his arms as if to make his point.

"What? You lost her?"

Vaan, dropping his sword to his side, walked up to him as if to make a confrontation. The hurt and anger that possessed him so easily, now seeping into his expression.

"Excuse me? I did not _loose_ her. She wandered off on her own."

But although Balthier could not see how the girl's well-being was in any way his responsibility, everyone else certainly seemed to think so, judging by their reproachful glances. Surprisingly enough, Fran was amongst them.

As they scattered to search, she walked up to him.

"What did you do, Balthier?"

"What?" he spluttered indignantly, "I have not done anything? She was simply being stubborn and stalked off."

Balthier was not the most honest of men. Fran knew that and took him for what he was anyway. The trouble was that on those occasions he actually was truthful, no one, not even she, believed him.

Fran made a noise that clearly stated her skepticism.

"If you recall, I warned you about trifling with her."

"But I have not trifled with her. She was simply-"

His defense was suddenly interrupted. Fran's expression changed from one of anger to plain dread. He was about to ask when her strong hands grabbed hold and pulled him to the ground.

"What the-"

"Shhh," she whispered frantically and slammed a hand over his mouth.

Scrambling to her knees, she indicated the huge rock a few paces back, and started crawling in that direction. He followed suit, arms and legs flailing everywhere.

"What in Ivalice are you doing, woman?" he whined as they perched themselves against the lump of stone.

"It is a soul-eater," she whispered, as if that explained everything. But though her words where lacking information, the tenseness in her shoulders and worried glint in her eye told him everything he needed to know. It was a fiend. A deadly one.

The rock, an antiquated piece of ceiling, shattered before his very eyes. He had been tracing the patterns of the stone frantically and obsessively, as if learning them by heart was somehow consequential. And as his eyes gazed, studied, memorized the mossy, black lump of stone, a fiery blaze erupted and devoured their temporary sanctuary. As the magical flame-tongues licked upwards towards the high darkened ceiling, Balthier made a run for it.

"Come!" he shouted, and grabbed the Viera's hand.

They ran, head over heels through corridor after corridor. Balthier had thought that this creature, the Soul-eater, or whatever, couldn't see them through the black smoke. But alas, as he ran at full speed, sliding on the wet floor, still coughing from the smoke, he noticed the creature in the corner of his eyes.

"How the hell can it see us through that blackness of infernal smoke?" he panted.

Fran spared enough time to send one of those exasperated looks.

"It does not follow the sight or sound of us. Nor the smell, for that matter."

"What?"

"It feeds off of memories, Balthier."

He could feel the chill of dread spread from his neck and down his spine, as he recalled what he'd heard about the creature. When it first set its mind on a victim, it didn't stop hunting. No one knew what happened when in capture, because no one could recall it. It fed off of memories, and so all one had ever experienced would disappear. Every memory gone. But it was a lot more than that. Because every feeling, every ability and quality that came from those memories, would be gone also. And there was no regaining them.

"So how the hell do we get rid of it?" he yelled, almost slipping in the steep turn they made when pelting down another corridor.

"The only way is for it to pick a different pray."

"Oh hell," he muttered.

And so all they could do was to run, hoping it would somehow change its mind. The sharp taste of blood spread as he began to exhaust himself. But though it became hard to breath, and though every limb was screaming for a respite, they ran, ran, ran. Driven on by the though that either he or Fran could be captured.

"Balthier," she breathed, barely having enough air to speak. "Balthier, I think it has stopped. I cannot hear it any more."

He didn't stop running until she did but at last she slowed down. With the enhanced hearing of a Viera, he was certain it would be safe. They stood in yet another unfamiliar corridor. Fran braced herself on the wall, panting for breath, while Balthier keeping himself upright by holding on to a rock.

"I …wonder who it…who it went after," he hissed, his breath still coming fast.

"Indeed."

But Balthier didn't give it too much thought. After all, he didn't especially care for any of the fiends in this wretched place. He pushed himself from the wall, brushing his sleeves and adjusting his cuff links.

"Well then. We better be of, shall we ever find our way out of this hell-hole."

The satisfied, almost euphoric sensation that always spread through his gut whenever they had dodged yet another death-trap was cut short by a piercing scream. He froze on the spot, one hand still on his sleeve, his blood rapidly turning to ice. Though one could hardly tell a person by a scream, he instantly knew, without being able to tell how, who it was.

"Penelo!"


	4. An Empty Vessel

**A/N:** Firstly, thank you to redpandaj for your kick-ass beta work, and for not letting the computer get the best of you.  
Secondly, I'm terribly sorry it has taken so long to update. It has strictly been due to computer issues both on my and my betas part, not out of lack of interest. The next few chapters has already been written, so I'll try to update regularly from now on.

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy XII is the property of Square Enix.

Chapter Four – An Empty Vessel

I

It took them a while to find her. Even with Fran's superior sense of direction, navigating through the multitude of tunnels was not easy. Having just been running for his life for a copious amount of time, he now had to run again. But though his chest and legs ached, and the taste of blood spread in his mouth, it was the only thing he could do. The gnawing worry he felt pulsing through him made it impossible to do anything but keep moving. Even so, at least half an hour had elapsed from when they heard Penelo's scream until they reached her.

She was laying spread out on the cave floor, limp and lifeless. The body must have seemed alluring to any fiends straying past, but apparently none dared to come close.

She could have been sleeping, he supposed as he rounded the corner so sharply that he slid on the slick floor. There were no sign of either struggle or injury. But then again, that's not how the Soul Eater operated.

Balthier vaguely registered the sound of approaching footsteps, but took no notice, as he tumbled the last few feet and knelt down. Her face was covered by blond locks that fluttered with every breath she took. He latched on to this observation. A breath. At least she was still alive.

"Fran! Look, she's-"

But he cut of the good news by the sight of the Viera. Balthier had though she too would run to the girl. Instead she stood pressed up against the opposite wall, a look of decided dread taking over her features. Her eyes were wild, her hands fidgeting.

"Fran, what the hell's wrong?"

While she gathered herself enough to answer, her eyes flickered from Penelo to Balthier to the exit. She was just short of shaking, so great was her tension and fear. With visible effort she pulled herself together and opened her mouth to explain.

"Her memories are all intact," she said, without offering any explanation as to how she knew.

"You mean to say she has not been harmed?"

Balthier had trouble accepting this, given all he'd heard about the creature. Fran's fear was also a clue to something being wrong.

"She has been injured… But not in the way you suppose."

Balthier, driven to the edge by exhaustion and sporadic bouts of panic, rose and stepped over to her. Placing his hands on her slender shoulders he shook her slightly, looking into her eyes.

"What way then? In what way, Fran?"

Though this treatment of her being rocked back and forth was no doubt annoying, she finally responded.

"She has been turned."

There was a number of clichés associated with that phrase, and Balthier could not for the life of him figure out what Fran meant. The hilarity of pulling myths into a situation as grave as this was something Balthier had trouble perceiving.

"How do you suppose creatures like the Soul Eater are created, Balthier? Its ever-changing hunt for memories; it searches for what it has lost. This is not a breed," she said in affect, shrugging of his hands in a violent gesture. Walking over to Penelo and kneeling down at the limp shape, she looked at him once more.

"It is a curse," she explained, stroking Penelo's hair gently as she did so. "It is an affliction from which there is no cure."

Though it seemed both inappropriate and insufficient a word to describe his emotions, it was the only one that would make due right at that moment.

"Oh fuck…"

II

Though their options where limited, they would have to wait for the rest of the party before they could reach any decision. Despite Fran's initial dread, she proved the braver of them, sitting perched on the cold floor, resting Penelo's head in her lap. Balthier knelt some few feet away, back resting against the cave wall. Not being Viera, a creature of the forest that could walk for days as long as they were surrounded by nature, he felt the trials of the past day and night catch up. But though his body was slowly caving in, his mind reeled.

No matter how much he mulled it over, his mind seemed unable to grasp the concept of Penelo, sweet, innocent Penelo, being turned into some vicious monster. Even calling her that seemed so ignorant and unfitting that it bordered on the prosaic. To link this young girl up with the monsters that lurked behind every tunnel-bend seemed too easy an explanation to her current state.

Still, there was no denying that she was changed. The limp figure in Fran's lap seemed every inch of the Penelo he knew. But what was she, after all, if she did not have her own sweet countenance. Just an empty vessel that could severely damage the rest of them. And in their party were people that, in the grand scheme of things, were less replaceable than Penelo.

He felt a twinge of guilt for even thinking it. But Balthier was nothing if not a pragmatic man. Perhaps that was why he had such trouble with Ashe. It was the truth, though.

Amongst them was the heir to a throne. The one person who might possess the means to end the war and restore Dalmasca.

Fran was a valuable source of information, given that she was one of the few Vieras to ever leave the forest. And there weren't that many Vieras in this world to begin with.

Basch was a brilliant general, despite his tendency to let his tactics debriefing draw out in lengthy lectures. Even Balthier himself carried some value. As the son of Doctor Cid and previous judge he had valuable information about the Empire, information few others could provide. In addition, he was the only one with means of proper transportation, or any stealthy abilities what so ever.

Vaan and Penelo could sometimes be said to be the ones who held the party together. With the combination of enthusiasm, naiveté and loyalty, they offered the others means of comfort when the burden they had taken upon themselves seemed too great. They were, however, little else.

Or so Balthier's mind decided. His gut, despite his exhaustion, was not so far gone as to not protest avidly at this. Its last decision before his head dropped to his shoulder and he fell into a light doze was that Penelo was not a fiend to be slaughtered.

III

The voices that echoed down the passageway grew steadily louder as their owners approached. Roused by the growing sounds, Balthier snapped back to consciousness. Blinking the drowsiness out of his eyes, memories of a relentless ground and protruding rocks came floating back, rupturing the harmony and calm in his mind that always followed sleep. It was not until he was fully conscious that he recalled Penelo.

It seemed almost absurd that an event of such magnitude would not be the first thing he thought of. Certainly before the uncomfortable foundation on which he sat on.

While his mind rambled on, he cracked an eye open just in time to see Basch come galloping around the corner. Right behind him followed Vaan and Ashe, neither whom possessed the Captain's lung-capacity.

Then they saw them; Balthier and Fran resting against the wall, Penelo lifeless on the ground. For a moment that seemed to last forever, and yet in no time at all, they stood perfectly still, looking. Then:

"What's going on? _Penelo_!"

Vaan threw himself forth, a wild look in his eyes. Basch held him back so that he would not crush the girl.

"What has happened?" Ashe demanded. Her voice, sharp like a whip, and sometimes just as damaging, echoed through the silent chamber.

"Be quiet, woman, or you'll draw it back here," Balthier admonished, feeling shameful for exploiting this situation in order to get an upper hand in the ongoing battle between the two.

Basch, grunting a little under his burden of holding back the brash young man shook him slightly, making him stay in place.

"Lure what back? Please explain," he asked once Vaan was standing still. All three of them were now looking at him expectantly.

"Ah, I think this better be elucidated by Fran."

"This can not be easily explained-"

"Just tell us, will you!" Vaan shouted. His voice hitched at the last word, presumably out of concern for his friend.

"Well, then you must be silent, so that Fran may explain. As she said, it's not easily done."

But by then they were all done with the stalling. Ashe fixed Fran with her most regal stare that demanded noting less than the truth. And that's what she got.

"As Balthier and I were walking together, I became aware of a fiend," she began in that distant, calm voice of hers, all the while cradling Penelo's head. "It was too powerful for us to take on, so thinking we could simply hide, we threw ourselves behind a rock. I did not understand until then. I did not see what it was before. It is not easily discernable, the Soul Eater."

At this, both Basch and Ashe's faces grew grave in the darkness. But though both of them got the general idea of the happenings, they did not interrupt.

"We ran, without heed for anything but our own lives. Praying that the fiend would find another pray, we ran until we could no longer. But as we stopped, we soon understood that our wishes had indeed been granted. The Soul Eater had found its victim."

The collective stare that had been fixed intently at Fran now shifted down to the girl in her arms.

"You mean to say-" Ashe started taking a step towards them.

"Hold back!"

At Fran's sudden outburst, she halted, looking insecure.

"Please, let me finish," Fran asked, perhaps as means to soften the demand. "When we heard Penelo scream we turned and proceeded back through the cave. We found her thus a little while ago. And," she continued, sparing a glance at her partner, "as you do, we assumed she was fallen pray to the loss of memories. It would seem, however, that that is not the case."

Ashe, the most educated and informed in the contents of the Clan Primer, seemed to understand. Her face paled as she took another step backwards. She looked almost sick.

"As I explained to Balthier, the Soul Eater is not a breed in itself. Its only means of procreation is by inflicting its condition on others. It would seem…" Her voice stilled, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging unspoken in the air, like a looming possibility.

"So you're saying," Vaan began, the only one besides Fran who was brave enough to go close to his fallen comrade, "Penelo's been made into some sort of… Soul Eater?"

The frankness was not particularly tasteful, but in this case something Balthier instantly admired about the boy. To look his problems full in the face, and tackle the possibility of maybe having lost his only real friend. The brave act surprised him, but not so much as Fran's answer.

"Maybe."

IV

It was decidedly the oddest camp Balthier had ever taken part in. That included the time at Phon Coast when he had bared his heart to the Princess. It even trumped last night, though technically speaking he had not participated at all.

They all sat huddled up against the wall, taking comfort in the fact that an ambush was unlikely. Though the group all would have liked to leave the Cave Palace as swiftly as possible, they were too tired to go on. It would have been tragic indeed had they survived its keepers, fiends and (at least most of them had) the Soul Eater, only to fall pray to their own deteriorating skills.

There was no fire, and they did not speak.27) No one wanted to speak because the obvious subject was something they wanted to postpone 'til they knew better. But the silence was soon becoming as strained as any discussion would have been.

All were unable to sleep save for Penelo, who was still lying on the ground, unconscious. If they could even call her Penelo anymore. Perhaps, Balthier thought, remembering his previous musings, perhaps she was just an empty shell. Fran had never gotten around to explaining her theory, and everyone was so tired they'd decided it would be better to discuss it once they were all more coherent. But staring into the dark did little for the processing, and so Balthier decided to break the silence.

"So," he began, startling the others by staining the silence with his words, "you were telling us that there may be an alternative to our Penelo being turned into a fiend. Now I don't know about you, but I would like to be put out of my misery and know; what is this theory of yours?"

He knew it sounded aloof, almost condescending, like he was the only one who cared enough to ask. Apparently Vaan thought so too.

"She's not _our_ Penelo. She's mine. My friend, okay," the young man sulked. Balthier would have snapped at the boy to keep to what was relevant. But in a fit of unexpected compassion, he decided to let it slide. He knew the dread of fearing to have lost one's only friend, having experienced it a number of times with Fran.

"Relax, Vaan. We all love Penny," Basch comforted. Penny was the pet name he used for her, which in Balthier's opinion it was rather silly. "I agree with Balthier. None of us will get any rest until we know. Is there any hope?"

Fran tilted her head to the side in deliberation. Every movement she made was visible through the darkness because of the telltale movements of her hair.

"There is a possibility, however remote, that Penelo might not be all gone."

Despite Fran's warning of the unlikelihood of this happening, Balthier could feel his usually pragmatic self latch on to any hope there may be. He did not want to resent her the way he feared he would should she be turned into a fiend.

"When a creature, any creature, is afflicted with this hunger," she continued, stroking Penelo's head as she spoke, "there is no cure. However, some are more resistant to its effects than others. If she gives enough resistance, she might not be entirely gone. And if the part that is still Penelo is intact, even in the most remote form, it might be able to fight the initial instincts of the affliction."

There was another moment of silence as everyone processed this wave of information. Vaan confronted the problems head on once more.

"When you say resistance, is it like… well, could she be, you know…" he tried asking, flailing for words.

"Only few possess this resistance. I believe Penelo might be one such."

A collective wave of shifting and rustling sounded through the darkness. Balthier himself pushed his back further up against the wall, struggling to understand Fran, but not wanting to seem ignorant by firing off questions like Vaan was.

"Those that deal with mist of a more complex sort, magic like Espers and quickening, a stronger mental discipline they would have. And thus they would not be so easily attacked," she explained.

"But it could," Vaan insisted.

She nodded, her moon pale hair rustling and glinting.

"How does one find out?" Ashe asked.

At this Fran paused again, deliberating her answer.

"We would have to wait. Wait and see."

And that was the catch. Because if Penelo against all odds would have been able to fight her instincts, they would have to face a major risk finding out. To be brutally honest, Balthier doubted that she would be able to fight her instinct. She may be the sweetest girl in Ivalice, with the most alluring smile there was, but she was not, he decided, particularly strong. Still, he latched on to the possibility. It was stupid, he knew. Even selfish. A part of him felt guilty for having let her wander off. He hadn't felt this much guilt before he met her.

"How do you even know?" Vaan suddenly asked, the first one to voice doubts about Fran's abilities.

Her offence could almost be tasted in the air. Shaking her hair once more, she allowed an answer.

"I can feel her mind. It is not entirely empty."

"Have you any way of knowing when she will wake?" Ashe asked.

"There is no exact time. Days, it will take. The best would be to find somewhere secluded, undisturbed, and wait it out," she explained.

"And were would that be? We cannot go back," Ashe complained, not having lost her sense of practicality. They would need to stick to their plan. Every one of the party members knew the risks when they decided to go along. And their mission was more important than one person. Or at least for Ashe it was.

For Balthier it was about him. Only him. Well, perhaps about Fran a little. Right at this moment, however, he felt like the journey was not about him. Not about the money. Not even about freeing Dalmasca. Because Penelo had never wanted to come along. Not really. But here she was, fighting for them all. It was time he fought a little for her.

"I have a proposition," he offered, calling their attention back to himself. "We will go to the Bunansa residence."

V

When looking back at the events that followed, Balthier had a strong suspicion he suppressed the worst of it. After another sleepless night, strung tight by stress and exhaustion, the remainder of the way could have been nothing short of horrible. But Balthier's memory was as filtered through a thick, white haze. He could not remember the stress and worry. He recalled the fiends they'd fought, the roads they'd taken. But he could not for the life of him recall how.

The truth was that the remainder of the trip through the rest of the Cave Palace was perhaps the worst time of his life. Basch was carrying the girl, which left the rest of them to ward of the fiends. There were surprisingly few, which they all found very odd. The place had certainly not been lacking in monsters to slay last night. It almost seemed as if every living thing avoided them. When they did run into a fiend, and Balthier lifted his gun to fire, he could only think one thing: maybe next time it would be Penelo.

But they did make it through the cave, and with minimal challenge at that. The comparably fresh air of Old Archadies was greatly appreciated once they stepped inside. And with better air came better memory. Balthier distinctly recalled vowing never to go underground again.

Archadies was much like he remembered. Things changed quickly in the Imperial city though, but that was only the richer part of town. There was still a distinct division between rich and poor. And the old, poor, or crippled that resided in Old Archadies had other things to think of than renovate and build. Therefore, it was a familiar sight that met him once they were out in the light of day.

Grass, sparse and yellowed by the sun, had wound its way up between the cobblestones. In some places bits of the stone were missing, presumably stolen by some poor inhabitant needing it for his house. But though the grass was dirty and the sun felt too strong after two days in the cave, Balthier felt the first twinge of elation after the assault on Penelo. It would seem no one shared his sentiments though. As they stopped outside the cave entrance, the rest of the party looked just as dismal as before, save Fran, who rarely betrayed any emotion, and Penelo who was still unconscious. At the sight of the disheartened group, Balthier realized with no great pleasure that he would have to assume role as leader.

"This is Archadies?" Vaan asked in disbelief.

"Indeed. This is the Imperial City. You must be surprised, I am certain. The slum is rarely what's seen or talked of. But like with every city, it has its nobles and its street rats."

They walked out of the shade, into the sun. The surroundings may be just as dismal as their mood. But the sun shone just as brightly here as it did in the Castle Solidor. Balthier took his time, appreciating the rays caressing his face.

"Needless to say, the Bunansa residence is on the opposite part of town," he said, beginning to stroll in the general direction of the canal.

"Balthier, I have to ask. Do you expect us to walk across the Imperial City hauling along an unconscious girl? Would it not bring about suspicions, even amongst Archadians?"

"I am Archadian," Balthier said, offended, drawing himself upright. "And to answer your question, no. Because we will not be dragging her all over the city."

With that he led the party further down the seedy alley.

They had a short stop at a street seller to restock some of the more important supplies. Ashe, the keeper of gil and provisions stocked an extra pile of potions. Nobody asked what she would want them for. The thought that they might be using them in their battle against Penelo rendered them all sick and guilty. For every practical step they took in ensuring minimal damage when the girl woke, it felt like they had given up on her already.

But other than that stop, they walked swiftly and briskly towards the docks. It was not far as the chocobo flew, but Old Archadies was a labyrinth of allies and passageways there were no telling where led. Though Balthier had been brought up in this city, it had been a sheltered childhood. He was not well versed in the layouts on this particular part of the city. But at last, just as the sun was setting behind the grand towers of Tsenoble, they reached the dock.

The alley was badly lit. The canal ran closely up against a large pub, from which the sounds of a baroom brawl were emanating. A strong stench rose from the water, due to the amount of garbage that was dumped in the river out of lack of a proper sewage system. In daylight the water was completely brown, but in nighttime it was only black. The only source of light was the badly lit pub behind them. The yellow lights were broken on the water surface, dancing in rivulets against the stream.

This was the dock of Old Archadies. Here one could rent a boat, and thus travel across the entire town with minimal inconvenience. And since it was all strictly illegal, one did not need any sort of credentials to rent a boat.

"Craft for six?"

A man with clothes and face that were so dirty Balthier had problems distinguishing him from the darkness popped out of nowhere, jumping on the possibility of customers. Balthier wrinkled his nose at the disgusting appearance and took his good time looking the fellow over.

"Indeed, a craft for six. And we will need for someone to steer, as we're not coming back."

"Escaping, huh?" the man nodded, giving them a knowing smile. "Just lettin' you know that the grass isn't that much greener on the other side."

"What is he speaking of?" Ashe asked. The mighty princess would probably refuse if he told her of the number of people who escaped, searching for a better life on the other side of the river. And if he told them all of the safety measures put in place to ensure nothing like that happened.

"Nothing, darling," he dismissed, before turning his attention back to the ferryman. "How much will it cost us?"

He took his good time looking them all over. It would seem Ashe had a point, when she said they were inconspicuous in appearance, because the man did not seem to think they carried a lot of gil. He also didn't seem bothered that they carried a girl that for all he knew could be kidnapped.

"Ten thousand," he said firmly, perhaps expecting a haggling. But the party had no time. Balthier reached out his hand to shake.

"Done. And we will leave now."

"Aright. If you will all follow me right his way…" he said, indicating one of the boats bobbing on the water.

Placing themselves in the little craft, Balthier found himself crammed between Basch and Vaan, a not altogether desirable arrangement. Fran had taken over Penelo, who did her job by remaining asleep and out of everyone's way.

"Where to?" the man asked as they began to slide downstream.

"To Tsenoble. I will tell you where to stop."

The city of Archadies slid past quickly in a blur of lights and barely distinguishable buildings. He stared at the passing world, getting dizzy. The hours of sleeplessness and the rocking of the boat made it hard keeping his mind straight.

The further they travelled, the lighter it became. Lampposts and grand towers cast their light on the river. As they entered the more impressive part of the city, they could even see the colour of the water; no longer brown, but a dark blue. Caught in the sight of his city, he almost forgot letting the ferryman know when they had reached their destination.

The building the towered up before them was seemingly no different than all the other grand houses in this part of town. But to Balthier it brought at tidal wave of emotions he preferred not to confront.

The Bunansa residence, his home for sixteen years.


	5. The Bunansa Residence

**A/N:** A little faster update this time, as means of apology to any potential silent reader. If there is one, reviews would mean a lot.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Final Fantasy XII.

Chapter Five – The Bunansa Residence

I

The Bunansa residence was an old, typical Archadian building. Its architecture was beautiful but ordinary, with the tall windows and rounded archways that one could find on virtually every mansion in Tsenoble. It was 'correct' down to the yellow-red stones imported from Rozaria, back when times were different and relations better between the two countries. It wasn't particularly beautiful, but back in the day it had been the most expensive stone available, and therefore the most desired. Now every manor, with this flashing, dirty-yellow stone, was a mark of status, as they only belonged to the oldest, richest families. It was only for show, simply to mark once presence in this vast city. But the Bunansa-residence was empty. No one lived there, not since Balthier's mother had died, he'd been sent to the Academy, and his father had moved into the office.

The river abutted the estate, with a little pavilion at the edge of the lawn. In the dark it was lit by small lampposts that made a pathway from the pavilion, across the lawn and through rosebushes, up to the back-entrance. It was a beautiful, idyllic sigh, but none other than Balthier had eyes for it.

He did not expect them to understand what sort of feelings this place wrought. Not with a potentially fallen comrade. But as he debarked of the rickety boat, and first set his sandaled feet on the cobblestones, he was filled with an unwanted feeling of nostalgia and sadness. Perhaps coming here had been a mistake.

Ashe found her purse and paid the ferryman. On Balthier's instruction she threw in a little extra to ensure his silence. Basch was last out of the boat, once again having the responsibility of carrying Penelo. The party gathered on the pavilion, as the ferryman embarked, steering the boat away downstream. There was no going back now.

Some, Vaan and Fran for the most part, were staring around, looking a little lost. It was not in eager curiosity, but more as a way to find something familiar to hold on to. Basch fussed over Penelo in an almost endearing way, setting her gently down on the ground. But while he had his heart in the right place, and a moral compass that always pointed north, Balthier had no doubt he would slay down anyone who presented a threat to his Princess. And that included the girl in his arms. One didn't become captain by being gentle. Ashe, by far the most practical of them, left Penelo and the surroundings to the others and stepped right up to Balthier.

"You said the house was deserted," she admonished with a voice that it seemed she struggled to keep calm.

"It is," he said, indicating the dark, looming house.

"Really?" she hissed sarcastically. "Well then I suppose the light just turns on of themselves, and the bushes get's cut and trimmed by magic."

He chuckled. "Not magic no. There is a gardener here once a week, with an infallible loyalty to me, whom would never dream of giving me up. As for the lights, they do indeed turn on and off automatically. One of my father's inventions."

She still looked skeptical. But then again, she usually did. It was no small responsibility resting on her shoulders. Balthier smiled reassuringly.

"We will be as safe here as anywhere else. And there are some fringe benefits of living in a manor rather than a run-down tavern."

"As long as it is safe," she shrugged. "Now, come. We have no time to loose."

And right she was. Penelo was still sleeping soundly, but there was no knowing how long that would last. And when she woke, Balthier thought with a shudder, all hell would break loose.

He led them up the winding path through the rose-bushes. The house was looming and dark. Large windows made out the first floor, leading out to a terrace of sorts. It would be an easy thing to break inn by smashing the glass. But he knew his father well enough to realize there would be all sorts of alarms to ward off petty thieves. As the others stood by, waiting impatiently, he began searching his pouches for the key. Digging through ammo, potions and the odd treasure he'd managed to snatch occasionally, when Basch was too occupied to keep an eye on him, he finally found it. A tiny golden key, glinting in the scarce light. He stuck it in the lock, turning it. At last the double doors swung open.

"Home, sweet home," he muttered, turning towards them all. "Everyone, welcome to the Bunansa residence." With mock hospitality, he opened his arms wide, as if to usher them in.

They gathered together in the doorway, no one wanting to be the first to enter. The light from the garden cut their figures in sharp contours on the floor. Balthier took the first daring step, searching for the light-switch at the side of the door. It was not until he'd found it, the sharp light momentarily blinding them, that the owner's character became more palpable. Outside the house looked like just another Tsenoble manor. But inside, away from the neighbors' prying eyes, Cid had allowed himself to let his passions run wild.

Where a normal house would have candlesticks in holders on the wall and in the chandelier, Cid had decided to use another one of his inventions, lighting the room in a sharp, cold, electrical light. It was not very pleasant, but as the doctor said, much more practical. Functionality had also been the main concern when he had installed the lift that ran from the basement to the top floor. These were amongst the more inconspicuous installations, but if one looked closely, one would find that nearly all the things in the Bunansa-manor were in some way modified to suit a purpose, with very little left for showing off to guests. It was a most unusual house. But then, the Bunansas were a most unusual family.

The other five followed his lead, hesitantly making their way into the room. It was a sitting room, meant for viewing the garden; its rounded walls were all made of large glass-doors, like the one they had entered through.

"So this is the loony-bin," Vaan said, almost in a whisper. It was no doubt meant as an insult, but the reverence in his voice betrayed his fascination.

"Charming," Balthier replied sardonically. "Though essentially correct," he added, his voice carefully laced with bitterness.

He had discovered upon baring his heart to Ashe, that this sort of brutal honesty were the best way to knock someone off balance. Metaphorically speaking. He could of course give the boy a good thrashing, making sure he'd never insult the house of Bunansa again, but that would be somewhat undignified. And so much less fun. No, it was better to drop these verbal traps, feigning hurt, thus rendering the boy guilt-ridden until he apologized.

As suspected, when he turned after surveying the room, Vaan was sporting a decidedly guilty expression, Ashe eyeing him admonishingly. But enough with the mind-games. Penelo could wake at any moment. Just because they had been lucky so far, was not a guarantee that things would continue as smoothly.

There was a twinge of fear in the pit of his stomach whenever he though of what they would be facing. Manly because he did not know what it were. Until they could know the state of her condition, they could not know what to do. Now it all loomed before them as an abstract notion of danger and fear, laced with the additional revulsion every Hume prepossessed to protect themselves from a fiend. And the state of Penelo's condition would not be apparent until she awoke.

"Come," he said to Basch, "follow me."

He led them towards the lift, lodged into the far end of the room.

"Is the house so big you need an elevator," Vaan inquired, apparently not tiring of asking questions.

"There were other concerns than the size of the house that led to the lift being installed," Balthier snapped cryptically. He pushed the button, the doors parting at once, and ushering them all inside. Seconds later the doors closed and the elevator sat in motion. When the doors opened again, they revealed a vast and pressing darkness.

"The basement," he explained.

The collection of rooms underneath the manor was nothing more than a storage facility, really. But the amount of junk that had accumulated down there over the years meant that they would find enough stuff to make themselves quite comfortable. It was also the safest place by far. At the end of the room there was a steel door, leading into a vault. It had been the storage place for his mother's jewelry and his father's sketches. It would now serve to accommodate a certain fallen comrade.

"Follow me, if you please," he commanded, leading them all out of the elevator and into the mess of discarded objects. Motion sensors made the electrical light flicker to life above them, illuminating the room.

"May I ask what we're doing here if the house is as safe as you claim," Ashe complained, taking in the room with very little enthusiasm.

"Safe against the Imperial guard perhaps. But we are at the moment confronted with a far greater enemy."

"So you plan on hiding Penelo out in the basement?" Vaan asked, incredulous, already poking around and eyeing the antique sword-collection with interest.

"Well," he drawled as if considering, "not hide, per say. More like," he gestured towards the metal door, "incarcerate."

The rest of the group seemed fine with this turn of phrase. Ashe was still eyeing the room with a decided off-handed expression, Fran already halfway across the room, taking in their surroundings. At Balthier's words, Basch had begun walking towards the door, Penelo slumped limply in his arms.

"Hey, hold on a sec," the young man shot up, jumping in front of Basch, blocking his way. "You're not really going to shut her in there, are you?"

He seemed teetering on the verge of desperation, hands fisted, eyes suspiciously bright. He looked so forlorn, craving their understanding, that even Balthier felt a tug of compassion for the boy. Luckily he would not be the one to explain to him, what the rest of them had already grasped.

"Vaan," Ashe said, stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder. "You don't seem to understand… She… Penelo, she's no longer the person you knew."

"But you said…" he looked around, searching for an ally, "Fran said she might be alright after all. The magic thing might save her."

Fran came out from the shade, stepping into the electrical light.

"All gone, she might not be. A semblance of Penelo, there still could be left. But… " she shook her head in exasperation, "of that the chances are miniscule. The best we can hope for is that the Mist has preserved her control, if not her personality."

Vaan, despite having grown up on the streets of Rabanastre, fighting trough sewages, being betrayed by allies, had still kept his childlike naiveté. He was a bit like Penelo in that respect, Balthier mused. But though his compassion was commendable, it was also a nuisance.

"But why try to save her then, if she's already lost? Why didn't we just leave her? I mean," he lifted his hands in affect, "what's all this for?"

This was his cue to enter the conversation. Moral grey-areas were his specialty after all.

"She might still serve the cause she set out to serve," Balthier explained, endeavoring to put it as delicately as possible.

He watched as the boy's face morphed from a hectic red to staring white. He looked downright mortified, stunned into immobility. While Basch seized the opportunity to sidestep him, Ashe met Balthier's eyes, looking guilty.

It wasn't until Basch had put Penelo down, carefully placing her on the cold floor, draping a blanket over her, before securely locking the door, that Vaan found his voice once more.

The next words he said came out in a whisper. "You're planning to… you intend… to use Penelo as a weapon?"

The exchange of remorseful glances was answer enough.

II

Ashe was in heaven. Granted, they had a fallen comrade locked up in the basement, possibly morphing into a dreaded fiend at that very moment. They were hiding out in a house that she honestly doubted was as safe as the owner said, smack down in the middle of the imperial city. Moral was low, disputes ran loud, the stress of months (or in her case, two years) on the run, was beginning to wear at them. But none of that mattered right now.

Before her, lay perhaps the most wonderful sight she'd ever put her eyes on; a bathroom. But not any bathroom. Like everything else in the house, it was state of the art, as modern as it got. Sleek, bright tiles covered ever inch of the surface, except for where large, wall-length windows revealed the spectacular view outside. And underneath one of these windows were the object of her unexpected bliss; a bathtub.

It had been roughly two years since she last took a proper bath. Of course, she bathed, certainly. She wasn't like the other barbarians in the resistance, with their monthly wash-day, or the rest of the team that only seemed to relish in a little dirt and sweat. But washing when on the run, wasn't pleasant. It usually entailed cold water and hard soap, cleaning up in a rush of panic, fearing that anyone would come bursting in at any second. She was a Princess. And that came with certain royal habits. Like taking a proper bath.

So the sight of the deep tub was enough to put the thought of troubles and despair aside. She closed the door and turned on the water. Stripping out of her dirty, stiff clothing, she discovered scratches and small wounds she couldn't even recall receiving. It had been a busy day after all. She let her index finger run over the cuts, leaving an ice-blue sparkling in its wake that immediately healed the wounds.

Her skin now once again smooth and undamaged, made her attention shift to her hands; dark and rough after two years of wielding a sword. She let them roam the rest of her body, noting the stark contrast in skin-tone and softness. It was with a certain pride she saw the vast difference, almost like her battered and calloused hands marked how much she'd changed, how hard she'd become.

As the water slowly filled the tub, she slid down under the water. It was almost too hot, making her skin ache. But it was a good sort of pain, leaving her red all over. Stroking her hair back, she rested it on the edge and closed her eyes.

It was not long until sunrise, and by then they would have to make themselves scarce so the neighbors wouldn't notice them. Balthier's own words. But by then Penelo was most likely to have awoken, so it would matter much anyway; it would be a long time before her next chance to take a bath. She was scared to be sure, but the sadness was withheld. Having lost as much as her, repression was the only way she was able to cope. It left her hollow, almost like the victims of the Soul-Eater itself. But it also made her capable of appreciating their luck in the midst of their misfortune. Penelo would perhaps be the first ever person to counter the Soul-Eater without loosing control. Gaining its powers but keeping the instincts in check; that would be an invaluable thing in the end.

Sighing at her own inappropriateness, she ducked underwater, staying there until she had to come up for air. The water was still to warm, and burned on her cheeks and lips. As she resurfaced she was choking and spluttering, drawing deep breaths of air. The air suddenly felt so much fresher as it cooled her burning skin.

"If you are in that much despair, I do believe there are better ways to handle it than trying to drown yourself in a bath-tub."

Even with her eyes closed and ears filled with water, there was no mistaking that voice. Drawling, aloof with the posh accent of an Archadian noble.

"Balthier!" her eyes shot up, blinking, trying to focus, as she drew up her legs in an attempt to cover her body. "What in Ivalice are you doing here?"

He chuckled. She had a good mind to give him a slap, if not for the fact that she was naked. "I would have thought that if you really wanted to keep people out, you would bolt the door. But you haven't, so I can only construe that as an invitation to enter."

He actually had the nerve to lock and bolt the door, showing no intention of leaving. She suddenly felt cold, despite the warm water.

"Excuse me, but just what do you think you are doing?"

"Relax princess." He chuckled again, clearly enjoying her outrage. "You are not the first woman I've seen naked. Anyway, you are no made. I don't know why you are acting so squeamish."

She would have sat upright, with arms folded, had that not given him a better view. In stead she sank down in the tub, water coming up to her chin.

"This is not proper. I must ask you to leave at once."

"Oh relax, Princess. I came here to speak with you. In private." He turned his back, staring into the wall. "There, now you can get dressed. I promise I won't look."

She snorted. "As if the promise of a pirate means much." But she did get up, quickly wrapping a blanket around her naked form. She would probably have made more of a fuss, like calling on Basch to throw the scoundrel out, if not for the fact that he actually came to talk. And she did desire a private conversation with him.

"Alright. You may turn."

"Thank you," he replied, his voice laced with sarcasm. "I am so grateful for you're generosity. In my own home."

She chose to ignore that, not wanting another fight. "I really must thank you, though. For lending us your house. Who knows what will happen. At least now we have a safe place to hide."

He turned towards her, all traces of sarcasm gone. He could certainly have used a bath himself. A mud-streak adorned his face, and there was a patch of blood on his neck and sleeve, where the curing spell had come too late to prevent blood-spill. Dirt covered his pants and sleeves, making it hard to tell if they were white or brown. But his expression was perhaps the most battered of all. He was tired, she saw. So very tired. She wondered how long he would be able to hold up.

"You are most welcome," he said sincerely. "But I wonder… Perhaps it was a mistake to come here after all…"

"How so?"

He shook his head, but whether it was in dismissal or exasperation she could not tell.

"I haven't been home in so long." He sighed, staring blankly out the window. There was not much to see, for the warm water had made the glass foggy. But she doubted he would have seen anything, were the windows clear and the sun up.

"Still," he shook his head again, adjusting his cuffs, "I came to you now to speak of Penelo. You may not be the leading man, but it is for you're cause we fight. Together we make out the leaders of this marry band, and we may encounter some resistance soon."

"From Penelo?" she asked, walking over to the futon, perching herself precariously at its edge.

"Perhaps," he nodded, following her to the adjacent chair. "But my concern was directed more at Vaan."

She almost smiled in amusement when considering the man before her; dirty, worn down, tired. Yet so very eager for action. A leading man, he called himself. Ashe had known many leading men in her life, the foremost of which her father and husband. Vossler, also, who had taken care of her during that horrible time after her father's death and the fall of Dalmasca. Even as he betrayed them, he's had the trait of a leading man. Basch too, so used to command of legions. Now all he could command was two confused teenagers. What these three men had had in common was not only their ability to give command, but also to receive it. To back down when the alternative would cause too great a loss.

There were but one alternative now. At least for her. Balthier could probably change sides at a whim. His father was sure to forgive him. Or so, at least, she though. But he was not inconsistent. She would say that much for him. And he was the only leading man she'd ever met, that would charge full on against such unbeatable odds. He was exactly the sort of leading man she had use of at the moment. Though, of course she would never admit to that.

"I'm glad you are here," she confessed, rather then answering his concern. "I am glad you decided to come with us."

He looked flustered for a moment, brows furrowing. He adjusted his cuffs once more, a trait she'd begun to realize was a sign of nervousness.

"Er… I am glad also. Remember, you are paying me."

"Right," she nodded, careful to keep up the pretences. "And what were you saying about Vaan."

"Ah, yes. I think our little sewage-rat might prove to put up a bit of a fight in regards to Penelo."

"Well, they are close friends, after all. Do not pretend that you are so unaffected yourself."

He looked honestly confused at this, edging further out on his chair. His face moved into shadow, his features less distinguishable.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh come, I've seen the way you look at her. At first I must admit I thought it was only to amuse yourself. But… it would seem there's something more."

She trailed of, staring at him intently. He didn't answer, and she could only take his silence as confirmation.

"It does not much matter," he at last replied. "She's gone now. One way or another."

His gaze shifted from scrutinizing the tiles to her face. "You feel it also, do you not?"

"Feel what," she whispered, though she knew perfectly well what he spoke of.

"That strange sort of… aversion…"

Towards Penelo. He did not need to finish the sentence for her to understand. She felt it too; a sort of sickening revulsion whenever she got to close to the girl. That served as a true sign that Penelo was gone, though her appearance remained the same.

"I do," she confirmed. "But Vaan does not seem to."

"He will," Balthier sighed, looking honestly sad. It was not often one could coax true emotion out of the man. She had only been able to on one previous occasion, and the sight made her slightly uncomfortable. "But until he does realize she has changed, we need to keep him away. Until we can be certain of what state she's in, no one she's too attached to should be allowed close."

Ashe could not help but wonder if that included the pirate himself. If he was not certain of his own emotions, or those few he possessed, then she at least knew for a fact that the girl had been in love with him. A stupid fanciful idea, that had she had a change to grow older, she would have blushed to think of. But nevertheless, having either of the two men there when she woke, might prove dangerous. Perhaps it would be better to keep them both away.

Both lost in though, they stared, without really seeing, the world beyond that of their own mind. Balthier seemed about to spiral further into the depths of his dark mind, when there sounded a sharp knock on the bolted door. They both stared, Balthier sliding out of his chair, his bum hitting the damp tiles with a smack, followed by a string of curses.

"What?" he snapped at their intruder, scrambling of the floor.

"It's me," Basch yelled through the door. "Have you seen the Princess?"

Eyes' shifting from the thick oak door, to the naked princess on the futon beside him, his mind was brought thoroughly back to the present.

"You had better get dressed," he whispered, storming for the other door, making his escape.

III

He missed his Strahl. He missed Fran, although she was sitting right beside him. He missed their camaraderie, their silent companionship and comfortable solitude. For though their party did only have an addition of four people, travelling with Fran was not quite the same as it used to be. But most of all, Balthier missed his boundless freedom. A freedom he'd worked hard to acquire, and that now, as he sat on the basement-floor of his childhood-home, seemed entirely lost. Like a distant memory, difficult to distinguish dream and reality.

He and Fran had volunteered for the first watch over Penelo, and were now camped down in the basement, while the three others were enjoying all the luxuries the Bunansa-residence had to offer. Balthier shifted uncomfortably, warming himself on the image of Ashe in the bath-tub, her lovely hair dripping with water. What she didn't know, of course, was that that was far from the first time he'd seen her naked. She would never know either. He's survived too much to be killed by a slighted princess. There were no hiding things from Fran though.

"For your nocturnal activities, I care little enough, but may I advise caution in regards to the Princess," she suddenly said, unprompted and unbidden.

By occuria, how did she know?

"We were merely talking," he defended himself. "And though I realize that the fact that she was in the bathroom does little for my case, I can assure you, nothing happened."

Though why that was her business, he was sure he had no idea, and decided to tell her as much.

"I am aware nothing has happened… as of yet."

"How…?"

She turned her head, ears twitching as though amused.

"Smell it on you, I can," she whispered, eyes playful, though voice scolding. Indeed, now that she mentioned it, he saw her nostrils were flared, no doubt picking up the sent of his arousal. This ability of hers had led to many an embarrassing situation at the infancy of their partnership.

"Ah, naturally. The elevated sense of smell. And hearing, if I'm not mistaken."

She merely nodded in confirmation.

"Can you hear anything now?" he asked, nodding towards the door that hid Penelo's sleeping form. Her ears twitched, turning towards the steel door at the end of the room. It's blank, cold surface glinted despite the darkness.

"She is sleeping still."

For now. Balthier sighed, letting his head rest against the wall they were perched up against. His lids drifted shut, cancelling out the sight of the looming door at the corner of his eye. Yet, although he could no longer see it, he could feel its presence as a cold gush of air. He sighed again.

"I wish we'd never come here…" he muttered to his most loyal companion. "I wish we had never sought the dusk-shard. This is the gods punishing me."

He was startled when a hand placed itself on his shoulder, but did not move to shrug it off. Indeed, he did not even open his eyes.

"Don't worry," she whispered, "It'll be alright."

Though amused by her unconventional choice of words, he let her comfort him, her hand tracing over his shoulder and down his arm.

"What will you do to her when she wakes up?"

He only sighed, pressing his eyes further shut, as if that would chase reality away. "You know full well what we will have to do."

"What will you do when she wakes up," she repeated, seemingly not taking heed of his answer. Then again, it was not much of an answer.

Apparently he stalled to long with his reply, because she got impatient now, clutching his arm so hard it was almost painful. Another trait quite unlike Fran. He was about to ask her to let go when she spoke again.

"What will you do to Fran once she wakes up?"

…Fran…

His eyes shot open, pupils dilating in the dark, his eyes working to adjust. Still, no matter their intentions, they simply were not fast enough. All he could see was a dark figure looming over him.

Thin, bony fingers dug into his arm, breaching the shirt and the skin, digging into his flesh. Adrenaline spiked, pumping through his veins as he felt panic seizing control of his muscles. A thick braid brushed his shoulder, the outline of leather wings made visible in the dark.

Penelo. Sweet innocent Penelo. He could only stare at her; at the white possessing her once beautiful blue eyes. To think he remembered the colour of them.

"What will you do to her when she wakes up?"

When who woke? His mind was foggy with fear, making it hard to concentrate. He could feel the natural instinct of fight or flight overtaking his body. Still, trying to keep his wits about him, his eyes shifted from those hollow, empty eyes to the place Fran had been sitting.

She was still there, though slumped down on the ground, ears twitching feebly. Rendered unconscious by the Soul-Eater.

"I… I don't know…"


	6. When You Awake

Chapter Six – When You Awake

I

"I don't know," he repeated, voice gaining strength.

The darkness seemed all consuming, pressing, though not as much as Penelo's hand digging into his arm. Though he was not at all grateful for the excruciating pain, or the scar it would undoubtedly leave, the pane sobered him up, dissipating some of the panic fogging his mind.

Breathing fast and shallow, his head spinning but clear, he reached as far as he was able, towards his fallen partner. There was no time to speculate as to how Penelo imitated Fran's voice to such perfection or indeed how she'd broken through the thick metal door and walked across the rooms within seconds. No, the most disturbing part, and also the only part that really mattered was what she'd done to Fran.

His fingertips graced her soft hair, tangled over the Viera's face like a veil. Hands travelling down the side of her head, gracing the furry base of her ear, he reached his destination at her neck. There, his fingers caressed her skin in searched of a pulse.

With a sigh of relief, that soon turned into a snort of pain, he could feel the steady beat of her pulsing blood. It was slow and weak, as was only natural for a Viera. Her body seemed unharmed. As for her mind, he could only wait. Until she awoke. If she ever would.

"I do not know what will happen when she awakes," he whispered, trying to answer his attacker's question. "I cannot say if you do not tell me what you did to her."

She let him go then, fingers dislodging from his arm. He grunted, biting hard down on his lips, trying to refrain from screaming. Though, as the blood trickled over his lips, the salty taste hitting his tongue, he came to think that perhaps screaming might not be such a foolish idea. He could see her clearly now, his eyes finally having adjusted. She looked very much the same as always, as far as he could tell. Though in a strange way he could not quite discern, she was both more beautiful and frightening than before. She stood, looming over him, her small and scrawny body conflated with the power she seemingly emanated, made a stark contrast.

Lips quivering momentarily, she fixed him with those eyes without pupils or irises, but only a vast and deep whiteness.

"Would you rather have her?" she asked, her voice somehow the same, yet deeper and more thunderous at the same time.

His inability to explain the difference was frustrating, though hardly relevant at the moment.

"How do you mean?" he asked, confusion entirely real. He would have shaken his head, as was his habit when bewildered, but the pain of his arm momentarily paralyzed him. He did not even dare to venture a healing spell, dreading the pain that would no doubt overtake his body the moment he moved. He therefore sat entirely still, staring up at Penelo, trying desperately to understand her query.

"You prefer the company of such a woman, not even a proper woman, to the company of me?"

Such a petty sentence. Yet when the words trickled over her lips, they inspired dread, rather than pity or ridicule. These were not the words of a slighted woman, but those of a force of nature, determined to have her way. He came to recall what Ashe had advised, that he should not be present when she awoke, lest there be trouble. He supposed she had been right. Not that that would help him now.

"Penelo," he whispered, hesitantly, hopefully. Maybe she would respond to the sound of her name.

And right enough. As if a storm settled across her features, she suddenly appeared calmer, though Balthier could have sworn not a muscled had moved. The darkness, before seemingly enhancing the whiteness of her eyes, now dimmed them. She appeared altogether softer than before, though not quite her usual self. Balthier still did not dare to move, lest provoke her anger again. Still slumped up on the wall, he looked towards Fran, trying to discern if she was awake.

"Will she be alright?" he asked.

"Balthier…"

Her voice quivered, a slight tremble that seemed to spread outwards to her body, to the tip of her braids.

"Penelo."

Then, as if a light had suddenly turned on, the sharp mask was washed away from her features, and nothing but Penelo remained, the whiteness chased away like clouds in the wind. When she looked at him again, they were once more a bright blue. They hovered at his face a moment, before shifting downwards to his wound. When she lifted her arm, still trembling slightly, he was not certain what she intended, though not altogether surprised as he saw the silver sparks of a cure-spell emanate from her palm.

The healing flames flickered across his wound, healing it instantly. He noted with some surprise that it had not even left a scar, which was quite unusual. The shirt was not salvageable though, the tear not possible to mend without trace. As the last spark died away from the skin visible through the tare, Penelo's shaking increased.

Always the gentleman, he would have supported her down, inquired as to how she felt. But many dear friends had been wounded that day, one of which was lying slumped down next to him. Turning fully towards Fran, he stroked her hair away from her face, noting that her lids were still firmly shut.

It was unfortunate that it was only in moments like this, that Balthier truly appreciated his companion. To see the usually proud Viera broken, unconscious, possibly forever, was harder than he'd imagined it would be. In the misery and panic of it all, he seized her slender shoulders and shook them hard, her scalp smacking against the hard stone floor.

"Stop," Penelo commanded. And though she was back to her normal self, he felt obligated to obey her. Some of the fear twisting his guts might actually be due to her, not only his wounded companion.

She brushed past him, gently releasing his hands, before carefully stroking away Fran's hair. Her small piano fingers brushed so softy, so lightly across the other woman's face, it was more like a caress. At last her hands found their designated spot; Fran's temples, and settled there. Penelo leaned over, their faces close, and whispered into one of the ears, that now sagged slightly, their tips bent over.

"When you awake, you will remember everything," she mumbled before she drew back, released her victim and stood.

"She will be fine now. I promise," the girl whispered. Though she was not directed at him, but staring intently at the wall behind, he knew the words were meant for him.

"Thank you."

He was not quite sure why he thanked her, given that she had been the one to attack in the first place. But his words seemed to soothe her, making the shaking subside slightly. She was back to normal now, but who knew how long that would last. And given that thick steel doors were obviously no match for her, he found there would be safety in numbers.

"Perhaps we better venture upstairs. Fran could use some proper rest. And I suspect you might also?"

He quirked an eyebrow while eyeing her sagging and shaking form. She was now staring down at her right hand, fingers dripping with his blood. She was as frozen, with a look of revulsion in her pretty face. It did not appear that she'd heard a word he'd spoken, and he did not dare touch her, lest it bring about another fit of pique.

"Penelo?"

"No."

Her voice was no more than a whisper, but the word was still a command. She would not be brought anywhere she did not want to go. He could not decide whether she was still put out after recent events, or whether this was really the new her, shaking and unstable.

"Where are we?" she asked at last, though still not averting her gaze from her blood-soaked hand.

"This is my childhood home, located in the Imperial City of Archadies," he explained. "The basement, to be more precise. You'll find the others upstairs, in the slightly more presentable part of the house."

"Vaan?"

"He is here as well. Upstairs, with the others."

At last she looked away, first at Fran, then at himself. "I can't see him," she whispered, a little hitch in her voice. "He will be so ashamed now."

Shoulders sagging, small body shaking; bloody and forlorn, she certainly made a pitiful sight. His still pounding arm, torn shirt, not to mention his unconscious friend beside him, made it hard to feel sorry for her. There was something more to it though. Not just the natural vengefulness he was so accustomed to. There was a certain fear, laced with the rising anger. He did not know what she was, or what she'd done to Fran. But taking her recent ventures under consideration, it would seem her powers had bloomed, in great haste and with little control to restrain them.

Still, he contemplated, looking at Fran on the floor, she must have reversed whatever it was she'd done to the Viera. If she had indeed been converted, then she would have stolen her prays memories, if Balthier had understood correctly. But Penelo had whispered to Fran that she would remember.

This was all quite frustrating. He had to suppress his compulsion to kick something, or perhaps scream. This was not what he did. He was no stupid man. Not at all. He slaughtered fiends and reaped the reward. There was no contemplation of virtue or moral. Never before had he regretted coming along as much as he did now. Despite what the water-soaked princess had said some hours previous.

"I think perhaps you need some rest," he repeated, thinking how all had been better when she was asleep.

She nodded slowly, eyes on the floor. "Yes. Yes, I'm quite tired…"

That much was certainly true. She kept nodding, head bobbing up and down, while her eyelids fluttered, seemingly struggling to keep them open.

"But I can't see Vaan," she repeated, urgency and exhaustion conflated. "I would like to sleep. But I can't see Vaan."

She appeared almost delirious, repeating herself again and again. She seemed stuck, unable to venture forwards, and actually execute the things she kept repeating. It was not until he took a hesitant step forward, placing a hand carefully, though not callously on her shoulder, that she collapsed. It was as if his touch drained her of the last of her energy. Not keeping his wits about him, he did not have the presence of mind to catch her. She ended up on the floor in a rather brutal fall, head bounding against the stone.

II

As Balthier was making the bed of the master bedroom (with the gracelessness of someone growing up with a made) he couldn't help but appreciate the absurdity of current events. There was a stark contrast from calming a possibly dangerous predator one moment, to the mundanety of picking out sheets the next. Had he been used to such household tasks, he might have found the familiarity soothing. As it was, he now vented his frustration on the innocent piece of cloth, cursing at it for never keeping in place.

After having spent a well half hour on these activities, the bed was ready at last, and he out of profanities. He perched himself at its edge, surveying the room for the first time in six years. Despite the room being designated to the master of the house, Balthier had moved in at an early age. His father came home at such irregular intervals, and his mother didn't feel comfortable alone in the large room. Regardless of the chambers' inhabitant, it bore little trace of ever having belonged to a young boy. Balthier had never been a hoarder, rarely forming any sort of sentimental bond to his possessions. He had therefore left most of his belongings behind, and his father must have found no reason to keep them.

The extravagance of the room was impressive but unfriendly, its antique mahogany four-poster and andoran rugs chosen more for their outward display of wealth rather than comfort. The large and heavy bookcases holding so many books never read, the assortment of artifacts scattering the room, like globes and boxes, never played with, put purely for show.

Behind the bed, the blood-red galtean drapes were not as thick as to hide the sun that had begun its slow rise from over the Cerobi-hills. The redness of the rays was made redder by the curtains, rendering the room in a heavy, pink light. It would have been nice to see the sun's ascent, pulling aside the drapes and fill the room with the fresh light of dawn. But his job was done now, and it would do no good to linger.

Pushing away the less than pleasant memories of the place, he vacated it. And if his mood was fowl to begin with, it was made no better by his revisit of childhood rooms and memories. Still, with ever present grace, he closed the door carefully, before making his way down the broad staircase and into the drawing-room.

Some sight he was met with too. Inappropriate though it was, he felt his spirits liven slightly at the sight of his less than happy comrades.

When his mother, or perhaps some servant or other, had chosen their furniture-set, he very much doubted she had ever visualized this lot to ever occupy the assortment of ridiculously expensive sofas, futons and chairs. Huddled up in the middle of the room, they looked a miserable bunch, not made better by the same red light as in the bedroom upstairs.

Upon his entering, Basch sat up, back ramrod straight, face laced with concern.

"Is the chamber ready?" he asked at once, voice calm and steady.

"Yes. I have prepared two chambers. If you will take Penelo, I will lead the way."

The man nodded in agreement, and turned towards the sleeping form of Penelo. After her collapse down in the basement, he had hauled both women into the lift and brought them up. Despite the initial shocks and annoying queries of the gang, he had, like the leading man he was, soothed them soon enough, and explained the situation to the best of his understanding.

They had agreed upon putting both women to rest, before the sun rose too high. Wounded or not, they could still use it. And the vault in the basement had proved entirely inefficient anyway. They had both remained asleep, neither moving so much as an eyelid.

Balthier felt a certain, undeniable reticence, fluttering through his being, dancing up his nerve- chords as Basch passed him with his sleeping quarry. Just like her shifting looks previously, it was something that could not be put into words. He therefore choice to dismiss it, and went to pick up his own load – Fran would never permit anyone other than him to carry her. This was quite an honor.

She shared in his ever present grace, looking presentable and proud even when sleeping. Her head propped up against his shoulder, her long, flimsy hair wavering with every movement, she breathed evenly into his neck. But Balthier had years of experience, managing to guard himself against her sensual allure fairly well. That was most likely part of the reason for her trust in him. Albeit, he noted as he carried her through the bed-room doors, somewhat misplaced.

He placed her carefully down on the bed, divesting her of her shoes, but left her otherwise in a state of full dress (though her 'full dress' was not very substantial). Then he withdrew from the room, leaving her alone for the moment.

The dim lights of the hallway, was a comfortable change from the red hue of his former nursery. In this dark atmosphere, he took a moment, to compose himself, resting his forehead against the wooden paneling, scolding his face into his customary neutral expression. Frowns and weariness was ill befitting a leading man. He must not loose face.

"Balthier?"

A soft, deep voice reverberated through the dark, making him jump, skin snagging the wooden wall. So much for solitude, he grumbled, turning towards the intruder.

"Captain. How can I be of service?" he asked sardonically, brushing of nonexistent dust from his new shirt.

"I merely have some questions in regards to Penelo." He turned, eyeing the room were said companion lay sleeping. "Away from Vaan."

"Ah, I see." He inclined his head in approval. "Go on."

Basch, purple bags underneath his eyes, and face set in his customary frown, folded his arms over his chest and cleared his voice.

"I believe it would be wise to keep everyone away from Penelo until we can be certain of her condition," he began, eyes constantly flickering toward the drawing-room.

"Indeed. And how," Balthier asked, cocking his head lightly to one side, "do you propose we establish her condition by staying away?"

He did have a growing suspicion as to what the captain's answer would be, but held his tongue.

"Well," he began, shifting from one foot to the other in unease, making the floorboards creek. "I suggest that you will stay with her. If what you told us is truthful, then you seem to have some sort of hold over her. Though granted," he added, eyeing Balthier up and down with evident distaste, "I cannot conceive why."

"And may I remind you that she poked a hole through my arm, as though I was some clay doll?"

"May I remind you what happened to Fran. Seize your whining, Balthier. You have a devil's luck, and gods know you've done little enough to deserve it."

Balthier was sure they could have kept up this comforting banter for a while, but both men realized the futility and their own exhaustion.

"Alright. But do not get used to this. I am in no habit of doing favors. And get some sleep," he added, "that look ill befits you, Captain."

Basch was not vain enough to take offence by this, but simply shrugged, and walked away down the staircase.

Balthier did not follow, but chose to heed the older man's instruction. Penelo's designated room was just down the hall. He paused by the rooms only source of light; the window at the end of the hall. It faced the quayside, lending a good view of the ascending sun. All quiet in the cold glow of morning, the neighboring houses began to come to life. Airships adorned the sky of the restless city, coupled with clouds that promised a rainy day.

He recalled with perfect clarity, their talk in the Salika Forest with nostalgia. What simpler time. All they had to do then, was to stop Vayne. He had not signed up for this entire moral dilemma.

With a sense of trepidation coupled with one of excitement, he pushed open the door.

The rush of memories came as an on setting storm, wrecking havoc in his mind. The sight of her sleeping figure, shrouded in a thick blanket danced before his inner eye; the way she had been the last time he'd seen her sleep. And in her state of none awareness, Balthier had a hard time contriving the difference between the two.

Even when unconscious, Penelo seemed determined to derive a better man out of him. On this, more than anything, he'd founded his newfound resentment towards her. He was no coward. Not at all. No, that was not his reason for doing so, but rather the awareness of his own limitations. Both of them; Ashe and Penelo, seemed to expect such selfless greatness from him; expectations that Balthier knew he would always fail to meet.

It was not cowardice or evasion, but rather kindness that kept him at a distance.

But memories kept flooding his mind, clouding his determination. In the Salika Forest, she had spoken of loneliness.

"_We're not alone anymore. None of us will truly be alone again."_

'Oh, my dearest Penelo,' he though when eying her sleeping form shrouded beneath silken covers. 'you will never know true company or friendship ever again.'

It was a tragedy to be sure, that such innocence should go to waste. But she was changed now. The dull ache still lingering in his arm was testimony to that. Yet perhaps she was not so wrong about him after all. For she was tainted now; no longer innocent, no longer a girl; damaged.

Shrugging off his west and sandals, discarding them causally at the end of the bed, he crawled up, easing down next to her body. There he would rest; conceivably until she awoke.


	7. Memoria

Chapter Seven – Memoria

I

The soft and muffled chatter died slowly, like the embers of a fire. Ashe was the last to go to sleep – he recognized her steps, the pounding of her heels against the wooden floorboards as she followed the others upstairs to go to sleep. Balthier supposed it was alright that they remained up here, as long as they stayed away from the windows. The neighbouring houses were far away, but one should never underestimate a bored noble-woman, and her surveillance skills.

As the house fell silent, he became all the more aware of Penelo's steady and soft breathing. There, right next to him. If he wanted, he could reach out, let his fingers travel over her skin, her lids her hair. But he refrained without difficulty. For though he felt sorry for her, there were also this inexplicable feeling of aversion. One that had been there even before Fran was attacked.

And with that his thoughts travelled to his partner and friend in the adjacent room. Presumably asleep, hopefully soon to awake. And when she did, he would want to be there.

Penelo lay perfectly still next to him. She did not stir, nor make a single sound other than the soft hum of breath being exhaled.

Such silence. It was as if all stood perfectly still, as if the house was empty. He could not explain the feeling, only wallow in its solitude. Even the dust seemed frozen in the air, made stationary by the light emanating from outside. It was a feeling unlike any other.

He was unable to sleep, though he badly needed the rest, and not just a little annoyed that he was the one chosen to wait with her. Sleep deprivation suited him even less than it suited the captain, whom after all already sported a rugged demeanour. Indeed, it ought to be him waiting here. He had been the one caring for the girl since the accident after all. And had Balthier not somehow felt honour bound to the girl, unable to see past his own part in this calamity, he would have awoken Basch, speaking his mind right then and there.

As Penelo stirred for the first time this morn, ruffling the pillow, crumpling her blanket, his thoughts were dragged away, focusing on something else than himself. If only for a moment. The last time she had awoken, it had ended with an attack so quick that he did not even notice it until his arm almost was ripped off. Though he did not entirely dismiss the possibility of another such occurrence, he held a small hope that the chance of scenery might improve her spirits. As it was, steel doors held no resistance, so if she wanted him dead, there was little he could do to stop her.

It was a strange acknowledgement of his fate. But he had to confess, if only to himself, that as Penelo stirred once more, light lashes fluttering, he could feel a twinge of panic in his gut and the words 'I do not want to die', reverberated through his mind.

The sun had long since ascended, the time nearing noon. On this, the brightest time of day, the light hit the side of the house, illuminating every east-facing room. As Penelo opened her eyes, the first thing he saw, was a bright blue colour, glinting in the piercing light.

"Hi."

Her voice was no more than a whisper, a little gruff with sleep. She cleared it, closing her eyes to protect them from the strong light.

"Good morning. I trust you had a pleasant rest."

She did not answer him, and he did not blame her. It was a rather pointless query after all. She knew he did not really care.

"Where am I?"

"The Bunansa residence. My childhood home."

She nodded in thought, opening her eyes carefully to take a peek at the room.

"Right. You said. But we're not in the basement any more."

"There's no fooling you."

"Hmm."

This was all she said, before sitting up, nudging the blanket away with her feet.

"How long was I asleep."

He got of the bed, but was careful to not step to close to the window.

"Almost six hours."

She nodded. Then there were silence. To be sure, Balthier had no clue how to do small-talk with a potential fiend. As it was, he merely stared at her, as she gawked at the window, the garden outside. At last she spoke.

"It's a long time since you last visited, isn't it?"

"Correct."

"Is it strange? Being back, I mean."

Her legs were twisted, as if she was a foal struggling to keep on its feet.

"How did you know?"

"I need to go to the toilet."

"Right. It is one at the end of the hall. I will show you."

She nodded and followed him out of the room.

II

As Penelo relieved herself, Balthier allowed himself to slump against the wall, a repeat of earlier that morning, though with the happy exception of Basch. It was as if his mind suddenly kicked into overdrive the moment his eyes fell shut. He came to contemplate how much Penelo understood of all this. Because if she truly knew what she was, than he was certain she would have little mind for her bodily functions.

After about a minute (ample resting time for a pirate), he straightened up, adjusting his cuffs, wincing a little at the lingering pain in his arm. From the other side of the bathroom door he could hear the tell-tale sounds of a toilet being flushed and the tap running. Yet another luxury the accommodations brought.

As she stepped out, Balthier once again felt the strange mix of revulsion and pity for her; eyes still heavy from sleep, braids in disarray.

"Come, let us get back to the room."

She only nodded, trailing after him down the hall and into her chamber. Once inside, Balthier closed the door after them, leaning against it, as if to ensure that there was indeed an exit. Penelo sat on the bed, her hands digging into the covers, legs swinging back and forth a few centimetres above the floor.

"Penelo. I believe it is time we had a proper conversation. Preferably one that does not include you ripping my arm of," he began, suave and condescending as always. She would appreciate that, he thought. "I need my arm, you see. A leading man does not make quite the same impression sans one major extremity."

When he saw her eyes brimming with tears, he understood he'd taken it one too far.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, shaking her head. "I don't know what happened. It's all such a blur."

"I see. So you are still not aware what has happened to you?"

This was the delicate part. As Balthier watched Penelo's face turn even paler, a look of decided dread freezing on her face, he once more came to contemplate what his life would have been like if he'd not sought the dusk-shard.

"I… no."

That scared face. And he, what a coward. He drew breath, and prepared to speak.

"What do you recall?"

Then there was silence. Stretching on. Balthier could feel his palms moisten, his gut a thigh knot.

"I think… since we separated. Inside the cave."

"So you remember everything up until that point?"

It would seem Fran had been correct. Penelo was indeed stronger than he'd suspected.

"Yes," she nodded, though still sporting a deep frown. "Do you know what happened?"

How she managed to sit so perfectly still, her legs no longer dangling, but frozen in movement, he would never know. Balthier himself could not keep from trudging the length of the room, back and forth no less than three times before he had finally summoned the courage to explain.

"To a degree. But I'm afraid our knowledge of the situation and your condition remains frustratingly scarce."

Cursing at himself to stop beating about the bush, reminding himself that he was brave, even altruistic – or so Fran had said once, a memory he frequented quite often.

"You were attacked in the Palace. By a Soul-Eater."

Her unchanged expression told him that she shared Vaan's scarce knowledge of the Prime Claimer. She remained frozen in suspense. He, on the other hand, continued to pace, making himself a path across the rug.

"A Soul-Eater is a fiend. But not the usual kind… It does not harm it's victims in the… how should one put it… traditional way."

Taking his customary, aloof turn of phrase seemed somehow to make this all the more achievable.

"Rather than extending physical pain, it feeds of its victims psyche. It's memories, to be more precise."

At last, the first sign of a reaction was derived, as Penelo shook her head with such vigour that her braids pointed almost straight out.

"Well, then it can't have attacked me then. I remember everything."

Lamentably, that was not the case.

"Yes, well, Fran has a theory about that. You we're attacked, but not harmed. And so, the only possibility that remains, is that you have been inflicted."

Another shake of the head, before her gaze fell down, regarding her body. She looked at her hands as if they somehow bore a mark, a testimony to what he had said.

"Fran suspects that those in frequent contact with mist might have a heightened defence system. It would appear she is correct."

"But I don't feel any different," she objected, continuing to scrutinize her body.

"If you don't mind me saying, making a flesh wound with your bare hands is not typical behaviour. Or perhaps I have been remiss?"

She did not answer him, for which he could not blame her, but rather followed his example and began pacing the room.

"Please, keep away from the window. We would not want the neighbours-"

But a stinging look from her, which he was quite certain she'd never used before her affliction, silenced him.

"So what…" she lifted a shaking hand to her face, stroking away non-existent sweat. "What does that mean?"

No longer capable of looking at her, he turned to the window, scrutinizing the world outside; the river, the rosebushes. It was a pleasant day to be sure.

"We don't know. We can't know yet. You are, as far as we are aware, the only person whom has ever shown any resistance towards the affliction. But," he added, turning to her once more, "that does not mean that you're not a Soul-Eater."

III

"And then she turned silent. I explained a little further. What she seems capable of, how important it is that she remains in control. After that she asked me to leave. She was already shaking with anger, so I found it wise to comply."

Fran had not said a word during his recall of the events of that morning, but lain very still amongst the lush pillows and blankets. Now, at long last, she spoke.

"Balthier, please let in some light."

Her small body seemed so fragile where it was almost consumed with the pillows, but her voice was strong as ever. It would indeed seem like Penelo had kept her promise and left the Viera unharmed, for which Balthier was immensely grateful. She had even taken the news of her condition with admirable calm. So much so that Balthier allowed the first small flickers of hope to blossom, as he pulled apart the draperies, letting the afternoon-sun fill the chamber.

"Balthier, step away from the window."

"Pardon?"

He turned, letting his fingers grace the folds of the curtain as he brought his arms down.

"Did you not say we needed to keep away from the window?"

It took a moment to recall. He stared at her in the bed, at his hands, at the east-facing gardens and Archades in the afternoon glow of the sun.

"I… I can't recall… yes, I did, did I not?"

Stepping quickly to the side, he once more perched himself at the edge of the bed. He feigned interest with a pillow, letting a digit trace its pattern, not wanting to look at Fran for shame of his lapse in… what exactly? Memory? Concentration? Alertness? Luckily she let it drop.

"You believe her control to be adequate then?"

"Adequate for what?"

"Proceeding. I would expect Ashe is eager to move on."

"Right."

He nodded in thought, continuing to scrutinize the pillow.

"She was upset, and understandably so. But I do not think I was in danger of any attack. Still, I can't know if that was pure luck, or if Penelo consciously withheld her powers."

Fran stirred beneath her covers, moving into a more alert position.

"In love with you she is. She is reluctant to cause you harm."

At this he looked up, face marred with disbelief. Fran's ears twitched, her eyes sympathetic.

"Cause me harm? And what, pray, do you call this?" he asked, shaking his wounded arm before her eyes. "Not to mention the mere discomfort I feel whenever I am in her vicinity."

She would cause them all harm, but not so much that they could not use her. He would have to be cold, aloof, pragmatic; in short, himself. And not reflect too much on ethics, on Penelo, on the fact that regardless of her condition, she still seemed every inch the sweet, innocent street urchin that she ever was.

"Oh Fran," he sighed, "you know I do not seek trouble. Trouble merely has a way of finding me. I cannot be held accountable for this. Though I will admit that even I have never before encountered débâcles of such epic proportion. I will need you aid, you know."

"And you have it," she replied solemnly. "My trust and loyalty you must never doubt, Balthier."

Shaking his head in mock exasperation, he replied, "Fran, always so serious." As if the situation did not warrant exactly that.

IV

She had been planning to sleep in, making full use of the comforts of a proper bed; the mattress moulding to her back, the soft sheets and downy pillows. Proper rest lay in the niceties. Indeed, Ashe had been prepared to while the day away, resting her weary bones, gathering energy for battles yet to come.

With draperies and blinds shutting out the light, she had remained fast asleep, and also, for once, contented. As the pleasant hum of silence and the steady beat of her heart reverberated through her ears, she drifted off into unconsciousness within seconds of her head hitting the pillow.

Though her dreams, those of which she remembered, were discomforting, even nightmarish, it was with a displeased groan she was pulled back to consciousness. She doubted her mind could ever conjure nightmares of the likes of those she would face when she got up. So she turned over, digging her head further into the mountain of pillows, and squeezed her eyes even further shut, as if willing it enough, would indeed conjure sleep. And she would perhaps have succeeded, if Penelo and Balthier had not chosen that very moment to awake.

Giving a muffled curse into her pillow that caused her to reflect she might have spent a little too much time around certain pirates and rebellions. But she was awake again now, and could not, no matter how avidly she wished it, hold her concerns at bay.

She could hear them talk in the adjacent room. Basch had informed her of the plan they had lain, and she now listened intently, trying to discern any clue as to how it might be going. They were talking still, so she assumed Penelo was not completely overtaken with her rampant, memory-sucking instinct.

She remained like that, frozen in her bed, listening to their conversation, wincing at the steadily growing voices. Finally the door was shut with such finality that she knew whatever had been going on in there was over. As Balthier's steps walked past, down the hall, she could feel her muscles relax at last.

Now it was her turn.

They had journeyed far and with great loss. But even though they had followed her this far, across Ivalice, Ashe doubted that they understood just how important it all was. Too important to trust what might be a turning point in their mission, to a sky pirate and his diplomatic abilities, be he a turncoat judge or not.

They had come here in search of a weapon so great it would make the Empire crumple before her feet. She had been urged to take up the sword, lest her dream would remained but a dream. Now it occurred to her that the late Grand Kiltias might not have been quite so literal. And now that she had a weapon, she would not let it go. With this resolution, the last remains of doubt were purged.

The younger girl sat on the floor, seemingly having slipped from the bed on which she rested her head. It would seem that even this, holding her own head high, keeping her eyes open, was too much a strain on her muscles. She had been crying.

As Ashe closed the door, she felt an unexpected rush of fear. Uncontrollable, inexplicable fear. It gripped her body, her mind, her entire being for a moment only. Within seconds the feeling had subsided, yet the experience had shaken her to her core. She looked at her companion, friend and weapon on the floor, wondering if that might be what she felt right now. No, the princess was not so far lost in her duties that she had lost all compassion.

"Penelo."

Her voice was a gentle whisper, her movements languid, almost lazy in appearance, as though Penelo was a wounded animal, lashing out in fear. Though that was perhaps a rather apt comparison, now that she though on it.

The girl opened her eyes, with great effort it would seem. Ashe wanted to say something, lend her some words of comfort. But what could she possibly say to make it better. For Penelo there was no going back. To claim anything else would be to lie.

"Ashe," she whispered with a shaky voice. "I thought you were all avoiding me. Because of what I am."

It seemed almost defiant of her, to accept it all so hastily. But then Ashe had always been suspicious of nature.

"We need to speak. Will you listen to what I have to say?"

"Sure."

Penelo nodded, gesturing to the empty piece of rug before her, supposedly expecting the princess to take a seat with her on the floor. Ashe acquiesced to an extent, and took her seat at a chair at her opposite.

"Balthier has informed you then? Of your condition, of what we know?"

She nodded, presumably too choked up to speak. But this was not the time for compassion and weakened resolve.

"You have my sympathies. But as you know, we need to press on. We cannot linger here for much longer."

Penelo rose then, elevating herself to Ashe's level, and taking a seat on the bed.

"I understand," she said, nodding solemnly.

"But bringing you with us, without knowing the full ramifications of your condition, that is risky."

"You're gonna leave me here?"

Trepidation flickered across her face. Always so open, Ashe though. Never guarding her emotions, never withholding her feelings. In a way she possessed a courage Ashe knew she would never have.

"No. We cannot leave you. We do not yet know the extent of your powers."

"I might hurt someone?"

She only nodded.

"Well, then isn't it better that I stay here? If I'm in this house, I can't do anything. I can't steal memories or whatever it is the Soul-Eater does."

The desperation to remain untarnished and kind, was painfully obvious.

"That might be," she agreed, squirming a little in her seat, afraid to upset the girl further. "But you decided to come with us. To fight for Dalmasca. We need you now Penelo."

At first she looked happy. Her lips tugging upwards, her eyes alight with new-found motivation. Then, as she reflected a little upon this, the light dimmed.

"You mean you need…. Whatever it is that I do?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

She wavered a moment. It seemed so undignified, having to say the words aloud. But Penelo did not possess the subtle and underhanded skills of the court. She would need a statement; someone to tell her straight out that she was no longer one of them.

"Alone I do not possess the power to reclaim my throne. If you were to aid me, like you have sworn, then we might together rebuild our kingdom."

In retrospect, Ashe had often wondered that had it not been for the frequent usage of the words 'our', Penelo might have refused. She might have spotted the question for what it was. As it were, she envisioned herself as the single most important person to help her princess in her quest.

"Step away from the window, Ashe, lest the neighbours see you," she muttered, almost like a reflex, while nodding in agreement.


	8. Mimesis

Chapter Eight – Mimesis

I

All these women. Balthier could not help but despair, as he perched himself on an overstuffed armchair, eyeing the three women before him. Would he have come here, would he have ended up back in Archades, in his childhood home, if not for them? Somehow he doubted it.

As Ashe began to pace the room, walking in a strange sort of pattern, trying to stay clear of the windows, he came to recall the conversation they'd shared on the beach at Phon Coast. What confessions she had lured out of him. But it was a sort of self-revelation, the words he had spoken. Because for all his running, it had gotten him nowhere. And he'd be damned if it wasn't the women's fault.

Was it not Fran's idea to seek the dusk-shard. Had not Ashe been the one to lure him across all of Ivalice, back to his homestead. And finally, was it not Penelo's condition, who had made this sanctuary necessary.

His life seemed to him like a leaf caught in a wind, or something not quite so romantic. In any case, man could not control his fate. He saw that. And maybe, just maybe, he thought, while he adjusted his cuffs, it was just as well. Would he ever have chosen better or more wisely than the Occuria? Cid certainly hadn't.

Nevertheless, he could not help but purge his moth in a expression of decided reticence, as Ashe laid out their plan.

"The Draklor laboratory is located by the Grand Arcade, not far from here should we take an air-cab."

It was ironic, to Balthier at the very least, that the Princess now lecturing them on the Draclor, the Princess who had both whipped their backs, and extended her hand to drag them across the continent, with seemingly bottomless preservation, still had not made up her mind what to do once she possessed yet another stone. Balthier had thought he'd swayed her in one direction, but seeing her wavering expression now, he though her resolve might have been shaken.

The heavy air and intrusive smell of dust, settled as a protective blanket over his mind, lulling him into a state of near sleep. Ashe's speech dwindled on, her voice a comforting drone in his ear, the upholstery seemingly closing up around him in a comforting embrace. The rings on his left hand, snagged the rough fabric as he let it glide up an down the armrest, eyes flickering though he did not take in his surroundings.

In was only in retrospect that Balthier understood what a momentous moment this was. Not only in his own personal history, but for others as well. Because as he sat there, head lolling in his shoulder, chin snagging the metal clasp of his collar, eyes over glazed with exhaustion, he was perfectly relaxed. In fact, as Ashe's speech drew on, he became a little too comfortable, almost tumbling over the edge and into sleep.

This seemingly insignificant (though for some rather annoying) incident, was the first time Balthier felt the tendrils of normality start to seep back after their escape from the Cave Palace. The first time since Penelo had been turned, that life reached some small semblance of normality. But these reflections where far from Balthier's mind, as it finally gave in to exhaustion and boredom.

II

They left before dawn. Balthier had been awaken rather unceremoniously by a sharp smack on the head by none other than Vaan, and from there on the day had continued steadily downhill. It was not just due to the ungodly hour, or his lack of proper rest that spurred this foul mood, but rather dread for what was to come, and (though he would never admit as much) an unwanted sentiment towards his childhood home.

Still, Balthier was not one to plague other's with his whims and so he bore it all with his customary stoicism, save a few remarks to Fran.

The Bunansa Residence was in an uproar, everyone scurrying hither and thither like ants in a hive, collecting not only their possessions that somehow had been scattered all over the manor, but also accumulating possessions that were not theirs; weapons, provisions, protectives – in short, anything of value. Vaan had spent a full half hour down in the basement, sorting through the sword-collection there.

The only person, besides Balthier, that seemed perfectly complacent in remaining stationary was Penelo. When she finally stepped out of her chambers, it was rather reluctantly and only because Ashe insisted everyone attend the meeting she would hold. In Balthier's opinion, the girl might as well have remained in her room and out of everyone's way and thoughts. As it was, she was now huddled up in a chair by the window, staring out onto the city. An air of decided dejectedness surrounded her, but not in the same way as when he'd left her last morning. There was an ineffable air of something resembling hope about her.

He left her to it, drawing out his handkerchief and polished off non-existent dust from his gun. He always kept it in pristine condition. Fran had once joked that he cared more for his weapons than her, a disturbing suggestion. Penelo, on the other hand, had nothing in which to occupy her. She looked decidedly bored, and he came to wonder what she thought of. Was she able to let her mind stray past the obvious? She seemed complacent with her newfound insular existence. So much so in fact that one might not have guessed the state of her condition at all.

"Balthier."

The soft voice of his partner, reverberated through the silence, rousing him from his contemplation.

"The time has come. Our leave we must take."

As if adding census to her words, Basch chose that moment to carry his considerable mound of loot into the hall, letting it hit the marble tiles with much clatter and noise.

"We are right behind you Fran."

The sky cab was packed, the faces of every male partymember mutinous. Having taken the necessary wood chops from the residence, they were now on the way to the Grand Arcade and the Draklor Laboratory.

Vaan, appearing even smaller than usual under his load of loot, was unusually silent this morn. Balthier caught him in eyeing Penelo from time to time, but not once did he speak to her, or otherwise acknowledge her existence.

Penelo herself still looked quite at ease, happy that she was not one of the unlucky three that had too carry their provisions. And yet, mingled with her air of complacency, there were still something quite discerning. Alarming even, should one get to close. And it was painfully clear, even to the young girl, that despite the cabs limited space, there was a wide circle around the girl, unbreached by anyone. They did not want to come close.

Still she could have been a mimic for the way she portrayed a normal girl.

Balthier shouldered his burden, noting that though his frame was muscular, he was not built to carry heavy objects. He was a son of gentry, after all. As he stood there, trying to balance his load, and still mange to saunter casually against the wall, he allowed himself to scrutinize the pair of them.

"The boy has changed."

Fran had noticed as well. Not surprising. She let her frame rest against the wall with far more ease and elegance than he himself had managed, and let her eyes follow the direction of his gaze. The only outward manifestation of her inner turmoil was her ears, sanding ramrod straight.

"I'm surprised. Hadn't thought the boy preceptive enough to notice the difference."

She gave him a sideways glance, tapping her heals on the aluminium floor.

"This is the length to which Humes stretch for their friendship?"

"Fran, it's not like you to take a stab at our human weaknesses. The boy doesn't know what to think."

"You deflect Balthier."

"And you pry."

"You asked for my aid."

"Yes. Your aid, not your judgement."

He had not expected to get so angry, and was honestly surprised at the blood pumping harder, his irritation rising.

Outside the world hurtled past, his eyes only catching glimpses of the buildings, the streets the cabs.

"Your home," she muttered.

"It was."

III

The building, an epitome of architectural magnificence, a landmark of human achievement, and all the other things Dr Cid had aimed for upon designing it, was all too familiar where it raged up above the city and the surrounding houses. It was a beautiful monstrosity, intrusive yet undeniably beautiful. Though it was an eyesore to Balthier's delicate tastes, the other's seemed quite oblivious as to it's presence, and for about the fiftieth time since their arrival in Archades, he speculated as to where they would have been were it not for him.

"Vaan, over here," he hissed, grabbing the boy by his rucksack, and pulling him into the cover of a column. It was not even close to big enough to hide them all, and yet they all gathered about him- 'like dog's to their master,' he though in annoyance, yet smiling at the metaphor, which he found rather apt, being the 'master', or 'leading man' as one might also call it.

As they stood there, positively cowering behind the modest cover, they heard the soldier's reorganize, only one detachment being ordered to stay, guarding the laboratory.

"Do you think they're on to us," Vaan asked as a detachment of soldiers ran past.

"It would seem not. Though this makes our task more difficult still," Basch mumbled, hands folded and face contorted in worry.

As the last sound the friction of unoiled metal died away, they dispersed, heading towards the now ungraded entrance.

"Good thing we have our secret weapon, ey?" Balthier asked Ashe, the two of them having fallen behind.

She shoot him a look of feigned ignorance, but Balthier was not so thick that he could not spot the guilt underneath.

"You can't con a con-man, princess. Or at least you would be very foolish to try."

He sauntered of before she had time to conjure a reply.

The laboratory, now without a front-entrance guard, lay before them at the end of the street. It was almost deserted, but many break-ins had taught Balthier that that was rarely a good thing; with a crowd one had the opportunity to blend inn and melt away. People so rarely took notice of strangers.

Nevertheless, they managed to proceed to the entrance unencumbered. Ashe shot him her Royal Glare before she was whisked away with Basch inside. Following suit, the doors closed behind them, shutting out the streetnsoice. In the sudden silence, all that could now be heard was laboured breathing and the hum of electricity seeping through everything in this place. Fran's ears twitched in disapproval. She was not affected by this power source the same as with mist, but she approved of it even less.

Peering down the corridor, bathed in the fluorescent lighting, they all came to a stop, huddled together by the entrance. It was a curious structure, all rounded shapes, and a strange mix of both natural and manufactured material. Though Balthier had frequented this edifice since the age of three, he still found it odd, to say the least.

"It's too quiet," Basch muttered, voicing their collective thoughts. Balthier refrained from thanking him for stating the obvious, but replied in a more civil fashion.

"Passing strange. There are supposed to be guards here."

As he said it, he could not keep his eyes from staring to the corner where Penelo stood, seemingly taking it all in with awe. As before, she was calm. A little nervous perhaps, but complacent nevertheless. Not distinguishable as anything but a pretty girl, if not for the feeling of discomfort that ensnared them all. And, as it would seem, the guards.

"Maybe we're just lucky," Vaan said, his voice laced with false positivity.

"Maybe you're just optimistic."

There was nothing lucky about their situation after all. Not a thing. Except perhaps a small reduction in guard-numbers.

"Something may be afoot. We proceed with cation," the captain voiced in.

Balthier, now seriously annoyed, drew a deep breath, trying once more to regain composure. Did they not understand, or was this denial something they all went along with simply to calm Penelo. If so, their efforts were waisted. Of the six of them, she was by far the most relaxed.

"No time for cation. Step to it. Cid's chambers are on the top level."

Progressing through the deserted halls and corridors, the feeling of trepidation only grew. Ashe on the other hand, seemed to have adopted the boy's optimism, and seemed more encouraged for every step. He trailed behind her, a rather fortuitous place to walk, as he could concentrate on the skimpy excuse for a skirt (and what hid beneath it), as much as being on the lookout for any non-existent guards. Though, regrettably, the princess was not obtuse.

"What are you up to Balthier," she asked, coming to an abrupt stop, so that he had to take a rather inelegant step back in order to circumvent colition.

Once more in balance, he schooled his features into the suave indifference that he associated with confidence, something he felt shockingly lacking of at the moment.

"Pardon?"

She resumed walking, though this time by his side.

"You know full well what I refer too. Skulking behind me all the time. What are you plotting?"

He gave a silent laugh. At times the princess could be so naïve.

"Plotting? Whatever do you speak of? No, I believe it's you who hides things. Spawning plans in that pretty head of yours."

"I plot nothing, pirate," she spat. But regardless of the spite in her tone, she could not hold back the blush that spread across her cheeks like wildfire.

"Of course you do. You have said something to her, have you not?"

He looked at Penelo as he spoke, where she trailed after the captain, alongside Fran. Vaan was at the head, leading them all like a rabid dog. He let the though amuse him for a moment.

"I told her that I need her. That is all."

"Really?"

His eyebrow crept up, seemingly of it's own volition, so internalized was the movement. Furthermore, he did not believe her. The princess might have said those very things. But if Balthier had learned one thing from the street urchins, it was that they both seemed possessed with the single idea of freeing Dalmasca. If Penelo had been told she might in fact be the one to tip the scales in their favour, she would not hedge, not matter what danger she might cause her friends, or indeed herself.

"What do you think she might do? When we encounter Cid."

"Who only knows. Hopefully she'll steal his memories. You have no idea what military secrets his mind holds."

But Ashe, not keen on discussing it further, picked up her pace and left him behind.

Once the lift was operational, it went along a lot quicker. As they stepped out of the cramped space and into the office, Balthier could even wish it had taken a little longer. What was wrong with stairs after all?

The office was a mess, it was evident that some other intruder had been here. And not too long ago. Papers scattered across the floor, ink bottles open, books strewn without care. That was as it used to be. It was the upturned chair and nudged table that was the give-away.

Fran taking Ashe's place by his side, were the first to comment.

"He's had visitors. Ones lacking manners by the look of it."

"Someone after the Nethecite?"

He ignored their queries, and stepped past them into the room. This place; the laboratory, the office, brought back unwanted memories. Not those of pleasant childhood-times, like in the manor. No, he became rather reminiscent of those less pleasant times. Those that in the end made him leave.

"The Jagdt Difhor was it? Six years, and ever since you came back, this..."

Eyeing the desk with it's phials and scribbles, he reverted back, though not by volition.

"What madness found you there."

He had muttered it aloud, but only to himself. The passing though was not meant for others to hear. Yet Penelo had, and the effect was unintended and unfortunate to say the least.

"Penelo," Ashe whispered. The trepidation in her voice made Balthier turn, to find that all was not as it had been a moment ago. Before launching himself into yet another trial, he could not help but think that this was all very dreary. Tragic, certainly. Sad even. But above all dreary.

Penelo, standing alone in the middle of the room, had begun to shake violently, her eyes covered by that palest shade of white. He spared a glance for the others, standing around the edges, confused still and understandably so. He too was taken aback by this sudden turn of events. Though he knew well what happened, it took Balthier a minute to gather his thoughts, to react.

But to do what, exactly? They did not know what she might do, or even if they'd be able to stop her. Eyes white as snow, her small frame shaking, she wasn't Penelo any more.

But within the tangled multitudes of thoughts, he lingered on this last one, hoping more than actually believing it to be the key.

As Balthier stepped forth, away from the desk, he had trouble grasping what he was about to do. But there was Fran, standing on the other side of the room. Ashe, Vaan, even the Captain. And Penelo... This could go horribly wrong, but he felt in the clarity of present danger, that he somehow owed it to her. Owed her his courage since he'd been so shockingly lacking in The Cave Palace.

Closing the distance between them in two strides, he was standing in front of her in seconds. Her shacking did all but lessen. He could even hear the clareting of teeth, and preyed a silent prayer that she'd not bite her tongue off. It must have been painful, but her face was motionless, complacent.

"Penelo?"

Standing in front of her, he whispered her name. It had little to none effect. At the fringes of his vision he could see the others shifting in unease.

He repeated her name, but with no more success. It was not until he reached forth, placing his hand carefully on her padded shoulder, that something happened. Every instinct screamed, moving through his mind like tendrils of fear and warning; that he should let it go. But Balthier had never been one to listen to sense. Her shacking intensified for a moment, before subsiding. And as her body stilled, her irises reverted back to their normal colour. It would appear as if the storm was over.

As her frame slumped in exhaustion, her lids fluttering as if she was awaking, he felt a sudden surge of anger at her for scaring him so. Not only making them believe that she might be harmed. No, most of all the fear of themselves being hurt. It seemed cruel, but was rational nonetheless. He was a Hume, after all. And his primary instinct was to survive. Granted, he spend most his time fighting this particular instinct, as he had moments before. But that did not mean he appreciated a life threat any more than the average person.

Penelo, glowing with sweat, pale as a ghost; she certainly possessed every quality of a Hume. And a girl at that. But she was not, and it was imperative that he should remember. She was nought more than a projection, an excellent imitation of whom she'd once been.

These rampant thought came to him in the clarity that subsided an adrenaline-spike. It seemed simple. Difficult, but evident. They would soon thaw and lessen, but the clarity was comforting in it's way.

"Thank you," she whispered. "You brought me back. Thank you."

She ought not to be pushed further, but in this state of sudden insight, he did not want to lie.

"It was not for your benefit. You must learn control, Penelo, or else you are a danger to us all."

And if she looked just a little more broken, deflated, if her eyes glazed over so that he could even see his own reflection in them, it was the truth and he would not be deterred from speaking it. He would not feel shame for making a girl cry, nor for pushing them all on, without explanation or pause. But it rested there, in the recesses of his mind, ready to attack him the moment he stood still.

"We need to find Cid. Now."

And then get out, away. Away from Penelo. Thankfully she only stole memories. Not thoughts. It did not occur to him that they could be one and the same.

**A/N:** This chapter followed the events of the game a little too closely for my comfort. Don't worry, this will not become a trend. We have all played the game, after all, so there's no point in me seeing how much I can quote. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed it. And again, if there are any silent readers out there, I would very much appreciate a review. Not only are they exceedingly motivating, but also quite helpful in order to improve. Thanks for reading.


	9. Hunts and Headhunts

Chapter Nine – Hunts and Headhunts

I

The salty sea-breeze washed over his senses, as he leaned on the protective ropes, upper body hanging over the quay-side. The wind, a permanent fixture in this scene, tugged and crumpled the poster dangling from his hand, trying to whisk it away, far out to sea where there was no one to read it. Perhaps it would be just as well, he thought. Perhaps he should pull down every poster in the entire city of Balfonheim, and throw them to the ocean. But he did not let it go, his digits leaving indentations where they pressed into the paper. He did not look at it, nor did he let it go.

"Not very flattering, is it? The poster, I mean."

He knew who was approaching, even before she spoke.

"I wonder how he had time to post a hunt before he left? But I dare say anything is possible with the full force of the Empire at your aid."

Penelo stepped up to him, mimicking his posture and leaning over the ropes, eyes fixed at the breaking waves beneath them. She had taken out her braids for once, letting her hair out. Unruly and wild, it fluttered about her face, enjoying the momentary freedom.

"You will need a better disguise than that if you wish to avoid the hunters."

"I expect no-where will be safe now. But then again, I travel with you, so I suppose it never was."

He gazed down on the poster again, it's rough, though accurate drawing of the girl beside him.

"It pains me to correct you, but though we both travel with prices on our heads, our predicaments are not the same."

"How so?"

"Yours is a hunt, not a head-hunt."

"But that's just semantics, isn't it? I mean, what's the difference?"

She was really truly remarkably indifferent as to how she was categorized. Had he been the one to be marked as a fiend as opposed to a person, he would be enraged. But Penelo was not like that.

"The difference, my dear, is that now you are worth nothing to them alive."

Had he known this to be the result, he certainly never would have brought her to Draklor. Now hunters would have to join B'Gaman and the Empire in their chase for them. Though perhaps if they accumulated enough enemies, they would start to kill each other off in the chase.

II

If Fran had not known better, she would suspect that her partner was drunk. Although this was not a rarity (many a times during their partnership had she joined him in a celebratory drink, often resulting in a drunker stupor). But his unsteady walk and quavery tone must be attributed to something else this time, she contemplated, while watching him try to load his gun without success.

"Here."

Snapping the weapon out of his hand, she noted his lax reflexes. Whatever was the matter, it could not be good.

"Balthier?"

He did not answer her implied question, but rather sent her a meaningful glance, and slacked of so that they fell a little behind.

"I'm fine Fran. A little dizzy perhaps. But that is all. No need to worry the others."

"You will not be able to fight the Doctor in you condition."

"Something tells me I will not have to."

He sent a grim look in the direction of Penelo. She too had veered of from the herd, walking with her head bent low. Shame, he supposed, or anger.

"I see," Fran nodded, reaching out to lend him support.

"Leave it Fran. I do not need any fuss."

She twitched her ears and withdrew her hand, though her face was complacent.

"You might want to know, our earlier visitor is approaching."

Balthier tried to clear his head, shaking it as if that would dissipate the heavy veil that seemed to wrap itself around his mind. With a feeling of recognition, he spotted the approaching figure. But he could not quite grasp it, not quite bring himself to realize who it was. Even as the man grabbed Penelo before violently pushing her aside, he could not bring himself to react. It was as if he was stuck in a dream, or a nightmare rather, and no matter how much he willed it, he could not react the way he was supposed to.

He recounted what he knew, again and again. In this dark corridor, there were people. And a stranger. The light coloured their faces in a blue hue. They all looked pale and sickly, ghostlike. Penelo pressed up against the wall after her tumble, sent him a scared, wide-eyed look. And Cid was waiting. Yes, that was why they were here. But it was something else. Something wrong. If only he could recall. But Basch was the one to seize the role of leadership, relieving Balthier of any responsibility.

The men growled at one another, in a testosterone-fused, and – in Balthier's opinion – rather excessive way.

"My apologies. You bear not the stench of Cid's lackeys."

"And you are... our earlier visitor."

Then a silhouette appeared at the top of the stairs, someone tall and slender, like Balthier himself.

"Yes, a valuable man," the Doctor, for who else could it be, drawled in a complacent, almost languid voice, "one I'd sooner not loose. Yet he knows too much."

As their earlier visitor ran off, up the stairs and after the Doctor, they stood dumbstruck for a moment, all seemingly awaiting some sort of cue, but Balthier seemed unable to marshal his power of concentration.

"Cid's chambers are that way."

He pointed at the back of the retreating man, and that appeared to be enough. They all set after him. There would be an explanation, he though. At the end of the corridor, when they would stop running and stand still. It would all come back then. But Penelo, even while running, continued to stare at him with those wide eyes. Something was awry, though in his impaired state he could not grasp what.

Around the corner, and into the bright room awaiting at the top, they found the man and their shared prey: Cid. The light stinging his eyes, the room swam for a moment, much like his scattered thoughts.

"Cid, you know deafacted nethecite brought down the Leviathan. How can you persist in this folly?" the intruder asked, booming and authoritative whilst drawing his sword.

Then the answering voice. One that he knew all too well. They talked, exchanged words. He had the feeling that he was supposed to say something, but upon opening his mouth, no words came out.

"Pirate scum of the skies. What brings you here?"

Fran nudged him carefully, but he did not speak, merely stared like a fool. He heard the princess speak beside him. To stand his ground for him.

"You've come all this way for that trinket. I thought you above this. Though she's not entirely without merit. A test of sorts for our princess?"

As voices rose, and weapons were drawn, Fran stepped up to him.

"Manufactured nethecite. Like Bergan."

A curious physiological reaction, one he knew well. Feeling the adrenaline spike, his heart slamming in his chest as though it begged to escape the confines of it's prison, his scattered thoughts conflated in meaning. Like words gathering to a sentence, so did his mind, and he understood. Here was Cid. The sky pirate Reddas, he recognized him now. Here was a princess and a Soul Eater and a whole lot of people searching for power. Here, before him, was his father; a man he had not seen in six years.

"How could you do this?" he whispered, despairing still over his father's condition. "How could you fall this far?"

Had there been time, he would surely have stumbled into a heart wrenching confrontation, one that was sure to haunt him to his dying day. Luckily, things proceeded to fast for that.

The battle commenced. With perfect clarity of regained thought. Cid jumped down from his perch, the mist shrouding his body, guns in hand. He was a power to be reckoned with, but nonetheless outmatched. Soon he fell to the ground. Yet there was no triumph in this moment.

Balthier had hoped for a stronger reaction from Penelo, but it appeared that much like himself, danger made her more aware, more in control.

As Cid sunk to the ground, he could not quite believe what they had done. That he, after all these years, might actually have gained his revenge. Cid, now unarmed, slumped on the floor, at his mercy. And yet he did not act. But Reddas did not loose focus, and as he attacked, he was flung back from Cid's presumably defeated body. For all his flamboyant protectives, he wore an armour stronger still. Balthier noted his own breath catch in his throat, as the pirate was flung like a ragdoll across the room, a black mist enveloping his father's body.

"Venat, you shouldn't have."

The creature of shades rising from him, much the same way as Bergan, as Fran had suspected. And it all made sense then. His madness, his betrayal of sanity.

"This creature... So this is your Venat?"

But for all that they were, father and son, even after all that had passed, he received no response. As it where, it all seemed to much to grasp. But his father, ever the perfect villain, seemed untouched by his son's reaction. Picking up his sword, he gathered for the next confrontation.

"Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca! Just how far will you go for power? I see what company you travel in."

His spectacles caught the noon-time light and flung it back, as he turned his attention on Penelo, head cocked to the side in a rather familiar gesture.

"Ah, such power. How can one resist. It consumes you already, does it not? But this is something even you, daughter of the Dynast-King can't control. You would do well to go to Giruvegan. Who knows? You may receive a new Stone for your trouble. But a word of caution, leave this creature behind. You will receive no aid from her. This is a battle for Humes."

If the Doctor's words struck home, Ashe did not relieve it. She was as resistant as ever.

"Your words mean nothing too me!"

"The reins of History back in the hands of man. We will not be at the mercy of other creatures any more. I too make for Giruvegan. Give chase if you dare it."

III

"We make for Balfonheim first. A reconnaissance is in order. But I will need a talk with you, Princess, as to some of the company you travel with."

Reddas' hands flew across the control board as he spoke. It was such an internalized movement, that the levers appeared only as an extension of himself. Balthier squirmed a little, not entirely comfortable with someone else touching his Strahl. But Reddas was a step up from Vaan after all, so he refrained from comment, even as the man continued barking orders.

Outside, the sky was a little too clear for comfort. Balthier had expected to be followed. But though no one had made chase as of yet, he did not count them safe, especially as they moved into free air-space. Not that his ship was not equipped to handle anything and everything that might come their way.

"You seem better now."

Fran rose from her customary seat, and took the one beside him.

"You mind, 'tis less troubled I think."

He snorted, though not of derision.

"How I wish you were right Fran. But come, this is not the place to speak of it."

And so they rose, and left Reddas and Vaan to care for the ship. It was his after all, and he would do as he pleased.

Leading the way down the corridor and into his cabin, they found themselves alone at last, shutting out the sounds of Reddas and Ashe's discussion.

"It would appear that the Princess was not as untouched as she wished for people to believe."

He stepped up to the window, his back to the room.

"Your father may have a point."

"Oh Fran, you did not just say that."

It was what he thought, but there was a far cry from thinking it to saying it out loud.

"What happened, Balthier?

"I do not know."

He shook his head, as if that would somehow aid his memory.

"I recall everything perfectly now. But there was a moment..."

A moment were nothing made sense. Floating in chaos and confusion. Perhaps this was how Vaan felt every moment. But for him it had been horrible.

"I didn't understand why we were there. Or who people were... even Cid. What people said. But suddenly it all came together."

Fran did not speak, but then she never did unless she had something sensible to say. At last she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"We will have to ask Penelo."

Sighing, he nodded and turned once more to the window.

"I'll speak with her once we land."

IV

Balthier had not sought her out once they landed. Finally finding himself amongst like-minded people, he though the opportunity too good to waste, and hurried off to the pub favoured by every sky-pirate in Ivalice. It was there that he saw the hunt. Pinned up on the notice-board, twice as large as any other poster; the hunt for the Soul-Eater. And it carried a fee to match the poster. It was already the talk of every customer, who then had to decide if 50 000 gil was enough to go against such a fiend. And to think how simple it would be for him to claim those fifty thousand. Perhaps he would have done once. As it where, he took down the poster and left the pub.

He had expected Penelo to show more concern though. Perhaps she had grown used to the idea. She seemed content, in any case, as she leaned over the ropes, studying the turquoise water of the Naldoan sea and the tattered boats of the local fishermen that where lined up in a neat row, bobbing up and down in the water in perfect synchrony.

"You wanted to talk," she said, voice low as she closed her eyes towards the sun.

"Yes," he whispered.

He felt the now familiar feeling of discomfort break over him like a wave. But there was something else there to. Something akin to embarrassment, thought he could not conceive why. What did he have to be embarrassed about after all? And towards her of all people.

"Well?" she asked, as the silence stretched on.

"Did I hear the sounds of sour disposition emanating from the cockpit?"

"Yes."

"What were they arguing about?"

He could not help but admire the girl's complacency, her perfect suave indifference as she replied "me."

"I see. Reddas does not _approve_."

It was strange how everything could be broken down to just a matter of conservatism or liberalism. Or at least presented that way.

"No, he does not. And neither does your father. It would seem he thinks I'm of no use to you."

Balthier snickered, fingering the poster in hand.

"You make him sound like a disapproving father-in-law."

"If only things were as simple."

She perched her back to the rope, hands folded across her chest.

"So, what will you do?"

"How do you mean?"

There was something of defiance in her gaze, as she lifted her head. She was not to be demonized, Balthier realised. Her eyes where all too human.

"We will not leave you, if that is what you mean. Even if we wanted to, we can't."

"Because I'm still of use to you," she said with her new-found frankness. "You need me if you are to defeat the Empire."

Honesty was always to be rewarded, so he replied like she, in perfect honesty.

"Yes. You are of great use. Besides, you are to much of a threat to be left alone. Especially with this hunt out," he said, shaking the poster.

She did not answer, after all what could she say. But she did not seem angry, or upset. Balthier recalled the conversation with Fran. Perhaps this would be the time to ask her? He had never been one for appealing to deity for aid, not with his upbringing. And yet he found himself mumbling a prayer under his breath, as he prepared for this second confrontation.

"May I ask, what did you do to me? In the laboratory. I find, something has chanced in me, all since your... shall we call it 'episode'?" he paused, adjusting his cuffs, rather than look at her, "and yet, I can't put my finger on what. I found it difficult to concentrate, as if there were thoughts missing from my mind. But I am fine now. Do you have any explanation?"

She reached out, pulling the poster from his hand and smoothed it out in slow, deliberate movements.

"Your father spares no cost to keep you safe."

He snorted, but did not interrupt her.

"To think, I am actually jealous. You see, I have no parents."

"I am aware," he replied, not quite grasping where this was going.

"I did steal your thoughts," she confessed, staring fixedly at the poster. He had known this already. Of course he had known. And yet, her standing there confessing, poster in hand, he did not know how to react.

"Or rather, I stole a memory. Just one, I don't think it was important."

He laughed, a false laugh, full of scorn.

"Well, then I suppose it's alright."

"You must know, surely you must know; I didn't mean to."

"What was the memory?"

"Does it matter?"

Perhaps she was right in that, but he would like to know all the same. She smoothed out the poster further, regarding it's drawing; herself and her bounty, before nudging it underneath the ropes so it hung there, for everyone on the square to see.

"You were with your father. In his study at Draklor. He were giving you a lesson in natural resources. I did not know nethecite had that many uses."

"Come, I think we should head back to Reddas' mansion. It's past time we gathered."

He wasn't angry with her, truly he wasn't. Certainly he was passed that point, and the memory had little enough meaning to him now. Only a source of pain, to be sure. He let the poster hang all the same, as he turned and led the way back to the mansion.


	10. By The Naldoan Sea

Chapter Ten – By The Naldoan Sea

I

Surrounded by the tangy smell of sea, it's soft wind, stroking through the heigh-lofted windows of the Reddas-mantse, Balthier could only conclude that the man had been lucky indeed. This would be a comfortable set up even for a judge. And when an ex-judge usually found themselves surrounded by prison-bars, if alive at all, Reddas had very little to complain about. Not that Balthier had ever sought this sort of affluence. Nor did he want it. Still, it was a nice reprieve from run down inns and the confining cabin of the Strahl. It's not like he had ever had any problem with excess either, he thought whilst leaning back in his designated chair, feeling the upholstery wrap itself around his back, the setting sun in his face.

But seeming indifference was a rare talent, at least in present company. Penelo was withdrawn, as she had been for the last day, standing with her back to the room, reprising the sea at dusk. He suspected she had never been in this part of Ivalice before; the Naldoan sea, it's warm winds and fresh air no doubt a novelty to her. But the others did not share their appreciation of the surroundings. They had all huddled together around the table, whilst waiting for Reddas to come back from wherever he'd gone off to. They were no doubt expecting news or orders of some sort, rather than retiring for the eve. Such eagerness, Balthier scoffed to himself. What an abominable waste of opportunity, this may very well be their last chance to experience decadence and joy. Yet all they wanted was battle. And a battle they would get. A great war was looming, one that would decide the fate of Ivalice, and yet the sun still shone.

It would appear that recent events had even begun to take their toll on Fran, who, as she stepped up to him, seemed lacking in some of her usual vigour.

"They keep us waiting, these pirates. More tardy than even you, Balthier."

Balthier snickered, but didn't answer. She was just stalling, he knew, before she would move on to her actual point.

"I think it is too late for a meeting now. We will have to wait until morning."

"We need not only information. Some new supplies too, I think. And some proper rest. We'd best stay on, no matter how eager our Princess," he muttered watching Ashe as she paced impatiently across the floor. "Do you know what they spoke of, in the cockpit?"

"Penelo, I should think. Reddas does not want to bring her along. Fears her power, I think he does."

"Who wouldn't?" It was instinct, after all. "But do you believe the Princess will heed his advice?"

Fran stepped over to the window, leaning against its frame, while tapping the heel of her shoe, a gesture only she could make elegant, he thought, while watching her.

"I believe the Princess would be hesitant to relinquish any sort of power."

He fingered the poster he'd stuffed in his trouser-pocket, thinking it wouldn't much matter what they said; Penelo could do as she pleased. And at the moment, it seemed she favoured his company. She too appraised the world, deaf to the complaints of those behind her. At long last the doors were pulled apart, giving way not to Reddas himself, but to his right-hand man, Ric. The sun, setting early in such tropical environments, had sunk half-way behind the horizon, lending dramatic light to his entrance.

"I fear Reddas is engaged elsewhere at the moment," he said, addressing the Princess. "If it suits you, he should like to postpone the meeting until morning."

At last Balthier relinquished his seat, and joined in on the conversation. Ashe was not happy with these news, but Basch, who surely saw the same practical obstacles as Balthier of proceeding too fast, seemed almost relieved, though he did not show his employer.

"And what is so important that he cannot see us presently. Or indeed have informed us of these news earlier. We have wasted valuable hours here."

Ric gave a curt nod, appraising what she'd said, manners that were altogether unexpected of a pirate.

"M'lady must understand, there is no little responsibility that rests on Reddas' shoulders. We do things differently here, and in our own pace."

"And even if you, Princess, can stride forth into battle without weapons or remedies, the rest of us cannot," Balthier interjected. "We will need to stock up on supplies."

"I thought we already did, back at your place," Vaan said, trying to be part of the discussion.

"You too must be a stranger to these shores. Here are people from all over Ivalce, having brought with them the best from their own homestead. We will be hard-pressed to find somewhere with better weapons, magics or techniques. Besides, I need rest. And a bath perhaps. And a drink."

"I believe Balthier is right," Basch nodded. "Though I will spend my leisure-time in a more productive manner, I think it best we stay the night. Here, in Balfornheim."

II

"Do I detect a hint of naldoan in your accent?" Balthier muttered with half-hearted assay, as he leaned over the counter, awaiting his refreshments. He received no reply for this rather lame attempt, but the night was still young and he did not like to employ too much effort early on. As the wench took her leave, his order was ready; five beers and a lemon water – Fran, despite her ability to drink copious amounts of alcohol, did not prefer others to see her drunk.

Navigating through the crowd, tray held with the same effortlessness of any bar-made, as skill any apprentice pirate acquired. In fact, Vaan should really be the one to do this, seeing as the young man was so eager to learn. Balthier came to wonder when he'd begun to think of himself as no longer a young man. By any accounts he still was, and yet, he had assumed the authority that age brought, as Basch and Fran.

They were all waiting by a table on the second floor. It was less crowded here, less noise so that one might speak in private. And it was on Balthier's authority that they'd been let in, so he was not entirely wrong to assume this mantle. They all seemed tense, save Fran who looked disinterested, and Vaan who seemed eager in the face of what he hoped would be his future.

"Let me help you with that," he said, rushing to 'the older man's' aid. He lifted two of the jugs of the tray, handing one of them to Penelo. His gaze immediately sought Fran's, as he was sure she thought the same; Vaan seemed to have put his momentary grudge behind him, now ready to forgive his friend her laps in humanity.

Balthier took his seat between Fran and Penelo, hunching over his drink like a proper man, assessing the ambiance of the party.

"We are a merry bunch indeed," he drawled, nudging Penelo to exite a snigger. He received no such thing, she as withdrawn as before.

"Forgive me, pirate, but currently I have nothing of which to smile about," Ashe replied sternly, sipping her beer.

"There I must presume to dispute with you, Princess. You are alive, are you not?"

"Indeed," Basch nodded, "after all that has passed, on this day alone, we are lucky to be here, alive and well."

To a degree, Balthier thought, appraising the quiet girl next to him. To compare her audacity of only days past; her teasing in regards to the malborough, to her dejected countenance. The contrast was stark indeed. And it affected them all. But nevertheless:

"Tonight we will make marry!" he declared, chugging the better part of his drink. Vaan followed suit, and was soon on his way to fetch the second round.

"At least we're not short of funds. I still cannot conceive how Reddas, or indeed this city mange so well with so little effort. Aside from the fishermen it would seem you have no primary resources at all."

"You forget, Princess, we are pirates. That is also a resource of sorts."

She snickered, a glint of defiance in her eyes that told of an argument to come.

"You mean to say that you pay tax of your loot?"

"Not when life is well," he adjusted his cuffs, feigning disinterest. "Usually we get our funds from what we rob, and spend it here, thus funding the shops, making the city go round. Every man for himself, unlike a monarchy, we don't pay for other people's luxuries."

The bait was plain, even Ashe could see it. And yet, Balthier saw that it was only with great care she refrained from taking it. She, like himself, must have been trained in the rhetorical arts.

"However," he added when her face had returned to a more normal colour, "when our autonomy is threatened, we sometimes join forces. Either in terms of man-power, or funds. So a tax of sorts has been created to fund the resistance, a tax that you have reaped the benefits of these past two years."

As he cut of his speech, the table fell silent. It was not until Vaan returned with refreshments, that she was collected enough to answer.

"This lack of loyalty, betraying ones own nation, it's disgusting. Without heed for ones fellow man, without helping those in need."

"And yet I see far less suffering here, then in your lowtown, Princess. We value our freedom."

He accepted his glass with a brief thanks, overlooking Basch' stern gaze.

"And if I may point out, your entire endeavour is dependent upon people who has, as you put it, betrayed their homestead. Fran, myself, Reddas, and even your Captain; none of us are Dalmascan. And yet, here we all are, standing together on the precipice."

"Do you deliberately try to provoke me? These are not ordinary times, the suffering is caused by your country's invasion. A state could not possibly survive like this, not without receiving an invasion in kind."

She spluttered, too affected to make much of an argument. There was, he had to admit, a perverse sort of joy in tormenting her. Perhaps he should have stayed in politics.

"You forget, we are not a nation; I do not belong to any nation. We sought together merely of practicality, but we owe fidelity to no one, as we don't expect it in turn. I do not think you quite comprehend what we are, Princess."

Though he ended on a kindly note, she was too far provoked. Not even bothering to finish her drink, she stood, fetching a room-key from the table.

"I will have no more of this. Come, Basch, I fear we are not welcome in such a place."

And as the obedient dog he was, Basch rose, still with the same intimidating gaze at Balthier, and followed her further up in the edifice, to the chambers they had reserved for the night.

"Sleep well," he called after them, "and wake me if you manage to conjure some reply."

"That was a little mean," Vaan muttered, though he did not really seem to care. "But I don't think Ashe quite understands. She's not so open minded."

"I don't believe that was why she objected," he countered, leaning back in his chair, overlooking the now almost empty room. "She can't understand how people of affluence can bee so inconsiderate of the poor. She will make a fine Queen, but I implore you Vaan," he added, turning to the boy, "do not make her your partner."

He seemed to take this sage advice to heart, nodding gravely. "Penelo will be my partner," he said.

At this, they both turned to the quiet girl. She had not even finished her drink. At the weight of their collective gazes, she looked up. She had not yet gathered her hair back in their braids, making it fall in front of her face like a veil. It fell back as she straightened up, making her eyes visible.

"I don't think I'm cut out for sky-pirating," she muttered, a weak smile playing about her lips. "You will have to rid my head if it's price first."

"My darling, we are taking on an entire empire. Doctor Cid is no match," Balthier tried to comfort in his most suave tone. "And you will certainly not be the first pirate in special circumstance. Take Fran, for example."

He was not quite certain if his own partner would be offended at this comparison. He assumed not, and if she were, she hid it well.

"It is as Balthier said," Fran pointed out, speaking for the first time, "we owe our loyalty to no one. This is the ultimate freedom, I should think it would suit you both very well."

They both looked a little cheered by this, Penelo regaining some of er usual bloom, her cheeks flushing in excitement at the older woman's approval. To think it had actually come to this, the two loners encouraging the two aspirants, goading them into a career of thievery.

"Not to mention certain other perks," Balthier added, as the wench that had previously rejected eyed him with renewed interest. It was often when women saw the Viera he travelled with that he caught their attention. He could not comprehend why, but had taken advantage of that fact many a time.

"Remember, you are to share room with the Captain," Fran pointed out, as she followed his line of sight.

And right she were. Privates may not mind loose moral, but generals did not take the rules lightly. But it did not much matter, Balthier was in no mood. Not tonight, shocking though it was, it had, after all, been quite a long time. But neither women, nor drink tasted as good as usual.

"Quite so," he muttered, finishing off his beer nevertheless. "It is warm, I think I will go for a walk. Leave the room open Vaan."

With that concluding remark he left the others to take the bill.

III

Maybe it was having to share a room with Vaan, maybe it was Penelo's oppressive presence, but he did not return to the inn shortly. He had assumed they would be offered hospitality by Reddas, but no such luck. As he had told Ashe before, every man fended for himself.

Though the sun set early in this place, the sky was far from dark. No stars shone quite as bright as by the Naldoan sea. And in this port there were not enough lights to chase them away. Balthier was not a romantic man, and was not in the habit of stargazing, but even he had to appreciate the luminous dots that had saved his life more than once when his navigational system was broken. He could imagine Penelo being one for stargazing. If they ever got past present débâcles and she got her condition under control, he made a silent promise to bring her out to one of the southern isles and let her lie in the sand and look to her hearts content.

He avoided the brothels and the bars, heading for the peer, now that his mind was on the ocean. To think, by the age of eighteen he'd owned these streets, figuratively of course. He'd been the envy of every pirate. Having now taken on a noble course, he only received a few nods of recognition, most of them from whores.

The bell tower at the top of the city struck three, another our, irreversible, had past. Roaming the streets to no end, would do little good. He was cold, he was tired, and surely he would pay for this on the morrow. But rest alluded him, and he could not bear the though of lying awake in a bed, listening to the snores of the two other men, wallowing in fear of what was to come. Because he was frightened, he had to admit as much, if only to himself. Death was certain, and it did not scare him, he'd made his piece with his own mortality a long time ago. But the thought of how he lived, and what he would leave behind, should he chose wrong, frightened him to no end.

In the middle of his self-pitying monologue, he rounded a corner, strolling down the peer. At the end of the almost deserted passage-way, there seemed to be some commotion. Balthier was in no mood for a fight, but he was not so passive as to ignore it completely. Taking a few tentative steps down the peer, he saw who it was. Penelo.

The girl got into more trouble than anyone he knew- and that included both himself and Vaan. She was currently facing down two men, that both seemed to have taken a shine to her. They were drunk, and she was dangerous, and yet he felt angry, almost scared on her behalf. He was being hypocritical, how many times had he approached someone who were, by all accounts, uninterested. And yet with Penelo it seemed like such a gross impertinence.

She had some sort of hold over him, even he could see that as he set in a short sprint across the docs.

It was for Penelo's benefit he acted, it did not occur to him that it might be her assailants he saved. In any case, she gave him a look of both relieve and gratitude as he reached them, grabbing hold of the one fellows arm, pulling him back.

"Gentlemen, we are in a pirate-port, finding someone willing should be no problem, so you might as well leave this one alone," he said with mock courtesy.

The man who's arm he'd grabbed, a gruff man about his own age, pulled his hand back in anger, but as he took a closer look at Balthier's face, seemed to ease up.

"Balthier? It's Balthier, isn't it?"

He did not protest, as the accusation was true, and somewhat disturbing.

"I am," he nodded.

The fellow's face broke up in a grin, and suddenly realisation dawned; this was no stranger.

"Cullyn?" he asked in disbelief.

"It's been too long, mate. This is my new partner, Dannyn," he said, gesturing to the other man. Penelo stood in the middle looking decidedly confused.

"Listen, we're not looking for a lady-friend, we're out hunting, see?"

"Hunting? In the port?"

Cullyn nodded, gesturing to the girl between them.

"She's a soul-something-or-other. Anyway, there's a big price on her head, and we're about to claim it."

But of course, he had the poster in his trouser-pocket, how could he have been so unforgivably slow? He berated himself in silence, trying to calculate his way out of the situation. Cullyn was a fair-minded man as far as pirates went, but he was still a thief, still a hunter. He would not want to relinquish his bounty.

"Listen...mate, this is rather awkward, but she has already been claimed. The girl is with me."

Cullyn and his partner stood silent for a moment, they did not protest, but neither did they let her go. Then at last Cullyn spoke.

"Excuse me? You let your hunts walk around as they wish?" he asked, more in disbelief than curiosity.

"Yes, evidently."

They were not buying his lie, and understandably so, it was rather lame. Penelo seemed to slip over the edge and into panic, her eyes wide and frightened, her body shaking slightly. It was imperative that he should save her, not only for her own sake, but for his own life as well. Who only knew what would happen if she did not calm down.

"It is Fran's work. She puts a spell on them. They become docile, so there is no need for a tight watch."

Cullyn did still not look convinced, but he respected Balthier, and what's more, he downright dreaded Fran, after an unfortunate incident in the Golmore Jungle. He knew this, and playing on his fear, and Fran's skill, seemed to actually be working. After a moments more hesitation, Cullyn stepped back, Dannyn following suit.

"Right," he said, "if you say so. Se you around, Balthier."

"A good night to you," Balthier called after them as they retreated into the dark.

As soon as they disappeared, Penelo's body relaxed visibly, and she breathed out a long sigh. Having escaped so narrowly, Balthier did however not share her relief, but rather felt anger spike.

"Silly girl, why would you do that, what are you doing, strolling these streets alone?"

She did not protest, but seemed just as dejected as before.

"Silly girl," he said again, this time shaking her shoulders for good measure. "Have you any idea you were endangering us all?"

Still she did not answer. He thought he might have seen a tear slip down her cheek, but it was too dark to be certain. His mind was already plotting the least crowded route home, when it happened. His hands still on her shoulders, they were quite close, and so it was with very little effort that she leaned forth and kissed him. It was not tentative as one might imagine a girl like her would kiss. It was determined, passionate he thought, as her lips pressed firmly against his. And thought it was wrong on many a level, he could not help but to kiss back.

**A/N: **I had some major troubles with this chapter. The 'political' discussion was not very original, I know. But I always imagined Balthier and Ashe to have quite different opinions, so there you are...

Also I've come to realize that the last scene is problematic, but this was the best I could do. Hope you enjoyed the read anyway!


	11. A Good Man

Chapter Eleven – A Good Man

I

He kissed her, and though some part of him wondered why, he did not for one moment regret his action. She was an unusual girl in many ways, and so it pleased him then, to find that she in this respect was perfectly, wonderfully, normal. Balthier doubted she'd had much experience with kissing, but that was due to her innocent nature, rather than actual incompetence; she did indeed kiss very well.

Encouraged by Balthier's response, she thew her arms around his neck, fingers playing tantalizingly in his hair. She tasted like beer, but he would hardly object to that, and her hair, her waist, her arms were all just as soft as he'd imagined.

The sea-breeze swept in on them, fresh air spiking his senses. And when first kiss, he came to think that it was this; not the fear of what was to come, or dread of something after death; but Penelo, _this_, that was what was truly important. The maddening crowd of hunters and whores, their shouting and laughing, the singing of airships above and the eternal crashing of the waives, the Port and the nighttime, this was what was important, this very moment. And with an assurance, that he was indeed doing the right thing, came calm, even happiness.

But this cocoon of bliss could not last long, soon fear caught up with him again. And the people who'd only moments ago seemed so vital, so welcome, was now imposing, with their whistling and profanities. He landed from his high rather brutally, and with that came the realization of danger. Penelo had already stolen one memory from him. Though that was through anger, he was not so certain passion wouldn't have the same effect. And with that though, and the ever growing crowd, the magic was gone, the kiss should be concluded. But how to disentangle himself, without causing another 'episode'. And here, surrounded by hunters, they did not need any additional attention towards Penelo and her condition.

Luckily it would appear she felt the same, because after a little while she sighed, placing her hands on his chest and pulled back.

Her hair slightly ruffled, her cheeks flushed, but more than that, she seemed happy for the moment, and for the very first time since the Cave Palace. The thought that this was all his doing did render him rather proud, yet at the same time regretful; if he'd been reticent to start up a romance with the girl before, there could be no less reason now. It did not make any sense, and yet they stood there still, his arms around her waist.

"I think it is past time we returned to the inn. There is after all an important meeting on the morrow, and I do not think the Princess would forgive us, should we arrive late."

She smiled, actually smiled, her eyes lighting up.

"Yes, and for good reason."

"Indeed."

She was also the one to step back, disentangling herself from his reach. Suddenly he did not know where to place his hands.

"We should be getting back then," she said, and turned to walk down the doc.

"Indeed," he said again, "but I would suggest we take the other way. You are headed into the ocean."

"Oh," was all she said, spinning around, her hair fluttering.

"Well then, come along!"

They walked back together in silence, Balthier contemplating all the while as to what she really wanted, what she expected him to give her. She had seen his memories, after all. Not all of them, but some. So how could she still be so determined to believe he was a good man?

They said their goodbyes at her door, Balthier envying her the sleeping arrangements, Vaan and the Captain were not the most silent of sleepers.

"Until tomorrow," he said, taking a superficial bow and wondering when his mock-politeness had turned real.

II

Ric was standing by the door as if guarding it, hands folded over his chest in what he must have imagined to be a rather manly and intimidating gesture. As if such a thing were needed, Balthier scoffed to himself. But he was one of the fortunate ones. Considering what had happened last night, he should by all accounts be the one to accompany Penelo to the other side of that door. As it were, Vaan would be her companion in stead.

Thought they were not so very unfortunate. All they missed was a meeting, and excessively boring meeting at that, and the opportunity to discuss what would happen to Penelo. Reddas had deemed it unacceptable that she, or any with particular affinity to the Soul Eater, should be excluded from the meeting, not knowing that as soon as it was concluded, they would share with them all that had passed down anyway. Though for them to discuss her condition without her presence (and Vaan's), seemed only logical.

"The Marquis, he is set on war?"

Ashe had luckily dropped the discussion from last night, though Balthier would not have put it past her to confront Reddas with his own disloyalty. War remained the topic of discussion for now at least, but soon they would reach some conclusion as to what was to be done with Penelo. He was not fit to make such a decision, and he knew it. Even so, he did not move from his perch against the pool table. And if he should have to choose, what then? If it really came down to it, and he would have to pic between the Princess and Penelo, would he abandon his cause or would he surrender Penelo to the mercy of this lot? To be sure, he did not know, and made a silent prayer that he might never find out.

"The time approaches when he must make his position vis-á-vis the Empire clear," Reddas answered, "When he helped you of the Leviathan, he spited the Judges full sore. He cannot sit in idleness and expect to avoid a reckoning."

And why did it seem like every word out of Reddas' mouth was intended as a stab against his own person? He was being paranoid to be sure, but could not stop his palms from gathering moisture, his feet changing position rapidly, so that he squirmed more frequently than the two street urchin on the other side of that door.

"The Marquis share my distaste for war... Yet if it comes to it, he will show no quarter. He supports my infiltration of the Capital, in order to procure the Midlight Shard. But if there is no stone, he will ally with Rozzaria; failure is not an option. For either of us. And I should think not for you either Princess."

"It's just what Vayne wants. He lures the Rozzarians and the Resistance to the field, and then crushes them both with Nethicite," Basch said.

And how silly they all were. What fools, Balthier thought, and could no longer avoid joining in, stepping into the forum.

"I think not. Cid has the Stone. We procure it, and smash it to pieces with the Sword of Kings. Vayne will be left holding nary a thing."

Pushing himself form the table, and stepping towards the door, he might have hoped to create such an effect of haste, that the matter of Penelo would be forgotten.

"Time is short, we follow Cid. He's heading towards Giruvegan."

He had their attention, but none seemed to move. Ashe stared at him, her eyes no longer angry, but rather full of wonder.

"Giruvegan," she whispered.

With this Fran stepped forth, walking past him, towards the others.

"It is told of in a song of my people. On the farthest shores of the river of time, shrouded deep in the roiling mist, the holy land sleeps: Giruvegan. Who knows the paths? the way to it's doors?"

And why did they have to make it all so bloody cryptic, these Viera. He'd traveled long enough with Fran, and yet, at times he could not even understand her. And yet, Reddas did.

"Then you seek the Jagd Difohr. Deep within the Jungle of Golmore, in a corner of the Feywood, a Mist-storm surges and seethes."

But he'd had enough of waiting now, almost as impatient as the children. Was this her influence on him?

"Then that's it. Come along, we have little enough time to squander it."

"Indeed, but there is still another matter to be solved," Reddas said, and at last they arrived at the topic he'd hoped to avoid.

"The creature in you company, I cannot pretend I approve."

"Nor can we pretend we need it. I was not aware it was the custom of the Port to meddle in other peoples affairs," he countered, having prepared arguments in his head, though he knew they rang hollow.

"Only when those people might be the ones to tip the scales, deciding all our fates."

"And what is it that you object too? A non-hume in your midst."

Fran stepped ever closer to the man, Balthier smiling ever so slightly to know he had her approval, Fran by his side, as usual. At the very least, some things did not chance.

"You speak of weapons, of this stone. But do you not see, with Penelo at our sides, we might not need either the Midlight Shard or an Rozzarian alliance."

"But you do not even know what she is, what she does. She has already harmed many in your party," Reddas replied, but addressing the Princess rather than Fran herself. She did have an imposing presence, which many a man could not handle. Balthier met her eyes, nodding gratefully, the tiniest of smiles playing about his lips.

"We are not Judges anymore, Reddas. It is not up to us to decide the fate of someone of whom we know so little. After all, this might be an entirely new creature," he said, incapable of holding some of the enthusiasm he felt, out if his voice.

"A fiend, more like," Ric scoffed.

And perhaps that would be the right term, yet Balthier felt the tendrils of anger gnaw at his stomach, at his insides, begging to be released.

"But that is exactly my point, my good man. We cannot know what she is. She might be our savior or our destroyer. But do we not owe it to her to find out?"

"And get killed in the process. Or worse, being turned into some empty shell, loosing our memories one by one?"

"It is a terrible chance," Ashe conceded, looking almost apologetic, not daring to meet his gaze.

"She might prove a turning point in both evolution, giving us access to powers yet unharnessed. And this is what you all amount to; murder."

He did try to maintain his cool, and yet he could feel his cultivated facade slip away, his voice growing hysteric. He glared at them all, daring them to defy him, but they all seemed utterly untouched by his words.

"If I might pose an ultimatum then; if Penelo leaves the party, so do I. And consequently Fran and the Strahl."

It was a mark of their friendship that Fran did not object to this. She would truly follow him anywhere. They needed him. They needed his knowledge, his skill, his ship and his partner.

"You might be able to defeat Vayne without Penelo, but now without me." 

Reddas did not seem angry, but then he was a former Judge, and like Balthier, adept at concealing his emotions. He was silent for a while, mulling it over.

"You drive a hard bargain, Balthier. This curiosity will get you killed one day, you might resemble your father more than you know."

"I hope not," he said, smiling, yet recognizing the insult for what it was. Yet he'd won the argument.

"Right then," Basch chimed in, "it would not be wise to delay departure further. Might I go and inform the others of the happy news?"

And with this the meeting was concluded. As they made their way past Ric, who'd relinquished the doors at last, Reddas called out after him.

"Balthier, stay a moment. You will need the sky-stone."

"Of course."

And ushering them all out of the door, the two former colleges were alone at last. But as he turned to face the other man, he felt the awareness, more imposing than before, that he might not have done any of them a favor in defending Penelo. This whole business of having to care, having to choose and take part, rather than to flee, was not his style, nor did he like it. But there were something else, something gnawing at the back of his mind; shrouded in fog, yet it did not seem to get clearer; it was only an awareness of something he'd once known, and that now had passed into obscurity.

"So, Balthier," Reddas grumbled, disrupting his pondering. "Tell me, when did the sky-pirate of Archades fall in love?"


	12. For Fifty Thousand

Chapter twelve – For Fifty Thousand

I

They did not speak again until the Strahl was ascending once more, Balthier comfortable in the pilot-seat, the thrill of flying sending tingles through his very being. The others had scattered, to the lounge, the bedroom; he did not care – alone at last with his ship.

This; his Strahl, this was all that he ever had, and ever could truly love. He did not care what Reddas said. Whenever he slumped back into the upholstery, his hands resting on the console, feeling his stomach tighten as the airship ascended into the skies, it felt as if his life resumed once more, and that all that had passed since, the hours or days on the ground, was naught more than a triviality, that it did not really count as life, as being alive.

However, no matter the thrill, they would not fly far. From the Golmore Jungle they would travel on by foot, and by his estimation it they would arrive by dawn. That would mean he would have another twenty or so hours, manipulating the machine to bid his will, soaring through the clouds at his leisure, but alas, it was not to be so. The Princess had seen to that, insisting that he would need his rest. And so, he and Fran would share the task. Neither of them had informed the Princess that the Viera needed no sleep. But of course, he had to concede, it would not suit the leading man to look careworn and tired. And as it where, he still had a few more hours in which to enjoy the sensation of boundless freedom.

But troubles and distractions did not abate. They never did. As the doors to the cockpit slid open, his first thought was that of the time, and how much was left; surely his watch could not be concluded so soon?

It was indeed Fran who stepped into the room. He could hear the noises of weapons-polishing, and if he was not very much mistaken, the rustling of a map; presumably Basch did not trust the Vieras sense of direction. She did indeed look quite annoyed as she sat down in the seat next to him, taking her place as the second pilot.

"I have a few hours left, we are still in Naldoan airspace."

While speaking, he tapped one of the monitors, as if she needed to be informed. But she did not speak, not even to acknowledge that he had spoken, but continued her distant gaze out of the window. It was as if she did not notice him, like the old days, when they could travel for hours without feeling the need to speak. How he missed such serenity and peace.

When she spoke, it was in her usual cryptic turn of phrase.

"You have much changed."

"You refer to the meeting," he assumed. They had no spoken since, and it seemed it was a great deal to discuss. Still, Balthier did most of the talking.

"I must confess, I even surprised myself. We must be careful Fran, perhaps all these knights and orphans are about to make a decent man out of me."

She turned her head, looking at him with something akin to anguish.

"Do not fret," he laughed. "There is no chance of that happening yet. But I do stand for what I said. Penelo should be given a chance, just like you."

"I do not think you take as much care as you ought to."

He laughed again, though a little strained; she seemed so serious, even more so than usual.

"I do not think we have much to fear from a little girl."

"And yet you are already damaged."

The comment left silence. Through the cockpit-door, they could hear the others, Basch instructing what would be the best path to take. Balthier's hands seemed limp on the controls, and he suddenly recalled he was actually steering, having been lost in her comment for a while. But soon he regained his faculties, straightening the ship, clearing his throat.

"It only happened one time. And you can hardly blame her for loosing control once. She is young; she'll learn. If you do not believe in her, why did you not abandon me?"

"I do not side with Reddas, it is not my way. But you should be aware, Balthier, you have lost more than you think. I beg you, do not tie yourself to this girl. She is no Hume anymore, you need not the experience of separation twice."

Her weak allusion to his long forgotten infatuation with her, made him rather uncomfortable - they had not spoken of that old fad in years – so much so that it took a while for the rest of her words to sink in.

"Hold on! You claim that she has stolen more from me?"

"Can you not feel it?"

There had been something, he recalled. This very morning he had been sized with a sensation of something forgotten, but he was not capable of remembering what. Could it be possible that Penelo had stolen yet another memory. Perhaps in the height of passion, perhaps all kinds of excitement induced an 'episode'. He would have asked Fran, but did not wish to be chastised for having put himself in such a decidedly foolish situation as being kissed by a Soul-Eater; he did not think his pride could survive her scolding. Although, perhaps there was something fundamentally wrong with him, that he placed vanity above personal safety.

He kept silent, and so did she, until the time came for her to take over the controls. And though he did not say so, a part of him felt secretly glad for the excuse to leave her company, and shut himself in the quietness of his own bedroom.

II

He must have fallen asleep after all. Bolting upright on his bunk, his eyes adjusting to the dark, it took him a moment to realize that the Strahl was still airborne, they where not there yet. His hands fumbled, trying to locate the drawer at the nightstand bolted to the floor next to his bunk. Having at last found their target, he flipped open the pocked-watch, and saw the time; it was still a couple of hours 'till landing. This all came as a relief, he must have slept for hours, and yet the fatigue did not seem to abate, but rather set more determinately into his bones. He slumped backwards, into the hard mattress, pulling the too small blanket over himself, burying his head into the pillow. He would need to regain strength, quickly. He did not need the others to ask questions, inquire after his health. More than anything it was annoying, but also it might raise suspicion towards Penelo. None of them knew just how her condition worked; she might steal energy in a quite literal sense. Both Fran and Ashe where already on their guard; should he spend the following day yawning, they would notice.

The bunk was not as soft as one might wish. Growing up, he was accustomed to the finest of down, and the softest of silks. Still, the reduction of bed-comfort was a small price to pay. He drew up the blanket, trying to cover his shoulders, leaving his feet bare. It shouldn't be cold, and yet he felt chilly, thought that might just be the result of his childhood-reminiscence. It had indeed been strange, being back in that house; the place he'd sworn never to set foot in again. Yet everything, every little memory, had seemed to diminish in the face of present dangers. Balthier was not in the habit of reminiscing; perhaps he would not loose so much in the company of Penelo after all, seeing as there was so much he wished to forget. No, much more preferable then, to concentrate on the task at hand. What's more, he found he really did mean what he'd said; Penelo's condition might prove to be a blessing.

Feeling the fog of sleep descend upon him, he pulled the blanket ever closer, thinking, he should have removed his shoes.

When he woke again, it was Penelo's gentle touch against his shoulder, slightly shaking him out of whatever dream keeping him. It was slightly disturbing, her face looming over him, so close. He found it unreasonable, expecting him to be sociable this early. She smiled her serene smile, and he recalled, they had not spoken since their shared passion, the kiss by the doc. And yet she did not seem in the least embarrassed. Balthier, on the other hand, spent more time regaining his composure than he would have liked, trying to sneak a peak at the watch at the nightstand, discerning just how long he'd overslept.

"We'll eat outside. It's a beautiful day! Fran told me to wake you."

A sudden shadow of concern flickered across her face, as though she thought he might be angry she'd woken him.

"That sounds nothing less than perfect. What's the time?"

"Around six, I think."

Balthier groaned, dropping back into the pillow. The Princess certainly wasted no time. And he really did need a shave and a clean shirt before resuming life on the road. Yet Penelo, always the morning bird, seemed to find his testiness amusing. She giggled softly, shacking his shoulder once more.

"Come along. The dawn really is beautiful. And Basch has stolen something from your food-storage; it smells great."

"There is no force in Ivalice strong enough to dampen your spirit I see."

He grumbled into the pillow, noting the chill had not yet abated. Perhaps food would indeed do him good. Life on the road provided scarce and often sporadic meal-times. She gave him another glimmering smile, seeming genuinely happy, and he couldn't help but wondering if that would cost him another memory.

"I'll just be a moment," he told her as she bounded off the bed, halting by the door. With a flicker of her braids, she was out of the room, leaving it silent. He rose, following her, thought with a slightly more dignified pace, out onto the dewy plains of Ozmone.

They all appeared to be waiting for him, though once they saw him, all sat in motion, filling their bowls with what appeared to be yet another 'Captain's stew' – a soldiers specialty no doubt. But it was hardy food, and would no doubt save him through the day, even thought he would be defying his slightly more refined palate. He sat down, accepting his bowl in silence.

Penelo had not been lying, the sun rising over the plains was a sights not to be missed. They all ate without talking, observing the suns ascent across the horizon, until Ashe decided it had had enough of a head-start, and began packing up.

"We will take the route through the jungle," she began instructing. "It is further than the rift, but more accessible. You have no objections Fran?"

The Viera only shook her head. She was already packed, and gazing at the outskirts of the forest with an unreadable expression.

"It will not take long, a day through the jungle perhaps. But the Faywood that follows is worse, travelers has been lost in there for months," Balthier interjected.

"Yes, yes, we know," Ashe did not look happy at this sombre warning, and he was glad of his understatement; most people never returned.

III

The climate produced a damp, sticky air, that left an unpleasant taste in the mouth. At times it was as if the air caught in his throat, but worse than that, he was beginning to feel sleepy again. This was not the same lethargic laziness as that of the Salika Forest, but a rather more imposing exhaustion, that seemed to dim his senses. Of course, they where all tired, all slightly affected by the climate. It was normal to be tired, and he knew he should not worry. In fact, he decided it was Fran's fault for suggesting he was not alright.

They made it through the woods at a steady pace, none of the enemies making much resistance. He suspected this was due to Penelo's presence, thought no one said so out loud.

The brilliant sun that had kept them company on the plains, had been at once obscured by the thickness of the jungle-vegitation. The forest did really posses a presence, and a rather grim one at that, the freshness of dawn as shut out as the sun. Day and night must be indistinguishable in here, the atmosphere even more oppressive than the Capitol, Fran had made a vise move to leave, and yet she seemed the only one of them quite contented with being back.

At frequent intervals Basch insisted bringing forth the map, thought Balthier could not conceive why; Fran had lived twice longer in this forest, than Basch had ever been thought of.

The captain rustled with his map, Ashe peering over his shoulder.

"Yes, you are quite right; the path has not moved since last you checked."

Balthier had always suspected that exhaustion did no favors for his mood, and this was certainly a confirmation. Even Penelo, who seemed to have recuperated nicely, looked careworn. She kept looking at him, he could feel it, though he did not look back. But the path was narrow, and occasionally his hand would stroke past hers in a swift and fleeting motion. It seemed ridiculous that he should suddenly be so aware of this, as if the back of his hands suddenly possessed more nerve-endings. He always seemed to know where she where, though he did not look for her, and once, when she'd tripped over a protruding root, and tumbled, he'd caught her without so much as a second thought. Perhaps all this wasted energy was the source of his sleepiness, perhaps this was what attentive people felt like all the time, he would need to become less considerate again.

It seemed that this third map-stop would transform into a rest-stop. He had no objections, and they all sat down, perched on roots or trunks, or simply the mossy forest floor. When leaning his head back, scrutinizing the leaves, he could just make out the glimmering spot where the sun must be, somewhere high above them. Fran sat down next to him, only slightly stirring his root.

"You are cold."

Her voice was low, she did not intend for the others to hear. And yet what was her point? Yes, he was cold, but he would hardly admit so, or else he knew who would receive the blame.

"With this air? I think not. I am not the modest dresser after all."

She did not smile.

"I think we should press on. It would not do to linger too long."

Her concern seemed pressing, yet he could not understand it, and when looking upon her, he found her face as cryptic as ever.

"We are in no danger; no fiend will attack us now. Whatever a nuisance she may be, you must admit that Penelo has made our passing considerably easier."

"It is not the fiends I dread."

"Mist?"

She shook her head, her hair tickling his neck.

"A Hume. It's approaching."

It seemed as if Fran's words worked as a cue. No sooner where they out of her mouth, than a rustling at both ends of the paht, created a flurry of head-movements, all of them trying to discern who was approaching at once. While cursing the dimness of the light, he would only have to wait for the figures to take shape, and little by little they did.

He knew them by appearance only, but he'd seen them a few times before, in Nalbina Dungeons for one. They where not the helpful sort.

"Bounty-hunters," he whispered, feeling the others tensing, readying around him.

There could be no doubt, their sordid appearance, and shifty approach. And yet, was fifty thousand really enough to take such a chance? They where only two, their weapons nothing to boast of; even without Penelo, the party would face no difficulty. But, sneaking a peek at Penelo, he understood; perhaps she would be the problem, and perhaps this is what they counted on?

They had stopped, both of them, at either end of the path. Both had their weapons drawn, but neither proceeded with attacking. It was a great possibility that they where idiots. But it also might be a tactic, aggravating Penelo to lash out, and then clean up after her. If so, they new even less of her condition than the rest of them. However, lash out she might, thought he did not know how.

It would appear that this was Penelo's primary concern as well, because she looked increasingly worried, her eyes shifting from the assailants to Balthier, to Vaan, as thought afraid of them as well. He then noticed her hands, folded together as if casting a spell. It was not until her lips began to move, albeit in silence, that he understood that this was what she was doing.

To his great surprise, he felt anger at the sight. Thought it was not directed at her, nor at the assailant, but rather at the thought that he did not want to let her go, now that she was back, now that she was herself again at last, or at least a semblance of herself.

The assailants, who seemed to interpret Penelo's spell-casting as an 'episode', now halted where they stood, seemingly bracing themselves, as thought a blast would suddenly erupt. What idiots, and yet, it was actually understandable that they did not know how a Soul-Eater operated, Penelo being the only one.

She did not create a blast or lash out, or even have an 'episode'. She cast a spell, and a rather pathetic spell at that, her hands shaking with either fear or anger. It was a sleeping-spell, and she cast it on herself. It took Balthier a moment to realize that while the rest of them had been fearing what her reaction might be to this unforeseen event, she was the only one able to act against it. She slumped to the forest floor, no one stepping forward to catch her, the assailant resuming at last.

As suspected, they proved a weak opposition. They where young, untrained lads of some mix he could not name. Basch had the honor of cutting down the first, not even spearing his life. Fran sent the other on his way with a rather forceful spell. They let him run; it could do no harm, and so he might warn others with similar aspirations to keep well away.

Things had progressed rather smoothly after all, and Balthier was about to check on Penelo when an arrow, almost depriving him of his nose, made him get up again.

Another round of rustles, the forest seemingly moving all around them. The Viera had arrived. The forest must have warned them of intruders, or else they might have made more noise than expected. This might prove to be more of a challenge, because this time they where in fact vastly outnumbered, and each Viera surrounding them had an arrow trained at each of their chests, save Penelo, who still lay on the ground, unmoving and asleep.

Fran, with slow, deliberate movements, took a step forward.

"Søstre."

He could not understand, never having taken the time to learn her tongue. There had been moments, like this one, when he conceded it might have been useful, and yet he'd never taken the trouble.

Yote, he recognized her now, stepped forward.

"Fran, velkommen. What is this thing you have brought into our forest?"

Balthier could not help but noting that the whole world seemed intent on crushing those who had set out so save it. What bitter irony. And these Viera, he had no patience for them. Not today, not with Penelo on the ground, and his own head seemingly filling with fog with every passing minute.

"We do not intend to linger. Let us be on our way, and we will be gone by dusk."

"The forest has not made up her mind. You will come with us. Take the creature with you."

And so they would face yet another detour, lingering, wasting time. He turned, picking up the sleeping body of Penelo, all the while feeling the arrows trained at his body, and hers.

IV

The hamlet appeared as an oasis, a serene place of beauty in the middle of such a savage forest. Balthier felt his lungs fill with the clean, cold air, Penelos deepening breath against his neck.

"What will happen now?"

It was Vaan, having bounded up to his side, looking concerned. Balthier was not able to appease him.

"I do not know. Another meeting perhaps. Or else they might incarcerate us while waiting for the forest to make up it's mind."

Vaan scoffed, earning him angry glances all round. Balthier felt sympathetic, thought he would never reveal such lack of tact. In a way he envied Penelo, sleeping blissfully in his arms. She was in this, for better or worse. There where no choice she would have to make. He had made his, but it would appear it would be tested every day for the rest of his life.

They where directed upwards, to the very top of the hamlet, passing judgmental Vieras as they went, filling their lungs with as much clean air as they could muster without getting dizzy.

"Here," Yote muttered, pointing to a cottage with an authoritative air about every movement she made. "Take the creature, look after her. The rest, join us."

"Excuse me?"

He could not help but feeling affronted. Was he supposed to wait, with a sleeping Penelo, as the others made their decisions.

"You will take care of the creature. Do not fret, you will be brought what you need."

He looked to Fran, but she did not seem to care either way, and so he turned, feeling Penelo sigh, stirring slightly in his arms, and walked through into the hut.

It was warmer, but a clean sort of warmth, the entrance covered with a cloth that flopped lazily in the mild breeze. They where high up, he suspected, high above the forest floor, closer to the sun, which appeared to be setting already. The hut, however, proved a little too small for two. There was a bed, thought narrow, at which he placed his sleeping cargo. It appeared to be fashioned out of twigs, as was everything else. He noted it was all alive, connected to the trees, but bent and shaped as to make a house of sorts. They had even created a small chair and table, though that was it.

It must have been quite the honor, he was most likely the first man ever to set foot in such a place. Perhaps even the first Hume. Maybe they did not oppose as much to Penelo as he'd thought. They might even have a cure. He could feel his enthusiasm run away with him; it would need to be kept in check, he did not need his hopes bashed yet again. Besides, he was still tired, annoyingly so. And though he could not grasp why, a little sleep would not go amiss.

Perching himself at the edge of the bed, he flipped off his own shoes, before removing Penelo's. Lying down, he came to think that this situation had excellent potential for an embarrassing end. Yet, pulling the blanket over the both of them, endeavoring (and not succeeding) to give her some personal space, he could not bring himself to care.

An embarrassing end indeed. Penelo was not a sound sleeper, her spell most likely beginning to wear off. She tossed and turned, at times deciding to use him as a mattress, nudging her head in the crook of his neck, her warm breath trickling across his chest.

He could have enhanced the spell. Even without doing so, he could have touched her. How many memories would that have been worth? But even he, not always respectful of the other sex, conceded that she deserved better. Also it might kill him. It was a restless sleep indeed, when it at last descended, though it was not wholly bad, she was quite warm, after all.

**A/N**: This story has been revived at last. Due to Real Life (writing), and exams, I've been forced to take a prolonged hiatus from the fanfiction-world. Apologies, and thanks to those who haven't lost interest. Reviews would not go amiss!


	13. Stargazers

**A/N:** Just a warning, to remind the reader of the rating. I have considered re-rating it as an M, let me know if it is necessary. As usual, reviews are appreciated!

Chapter thirteen – Stargazers

I

Balthier had always had a notion that waking was rather like making ones way to the surface of a great ocean; being pulled hither and thither by the streams, every movement slow and heavy, the head at last breaking the surface and he was once again able to breathe, to think, to see.

The ceiling had draperies, he saw them now; hues of green and blue, slightly out of focus as his eyes opened. It was nighttime at last, and he could sleep, presumably 'till dawn, but it would seem his body required no more rest. However, he felt decidedly sore, the mattress having done no favors for his back. It was only as he sat up, moaning and rubbing his neck in a display of discomfort, that he noticed; Penelo was no longer by his side.

Her slight figure had made a soft indentation in the mattress, the blanket left in a jumble by the foot of the bed; not always considerate, or perhaps she'd simply been in a hurry. The thought unnerved him.

It was as if someone had turned up the sound, or else his hearing had grown keener, but when he tried to listen for sign on her, or anyone else for that matter, all he could hear was the sound of the Jungle at night. It seemed a wonder he'd been able to sleep at all in this racket, and he would certainly gain no more rest for the moment, so he got up, looking around for his footwear.

As with most of his possessions, they where stolen, lifted from a Dalmascan duke as he was sleeping. He'd neglected to tell Ashe this. But they where most comfortable, and, more importantly, they looked good, metal-adornings glinting in the dark as he put them on. But most crucial of all, they made no sound as he walked across the room, stepping outside.

With the fresher air of night, his head seemed to clear, and Balthier came to wonder why no one had taken care to wake him. Surely the others would want to alert them as soon as their meeting was over. It stung, the fact that he was not allowed to participate. Was he to become like Penelo now, shunned like a madman? At any rate, he did find it most insulting that they had not reunited afterward. Was this his choice then; stay by Penelo and be forever an outcast, or abandon her and once again be the object of respect and admiration, albeit a somewhat grudging one. He recalled that night by the Phon Coast, how long it seemed now. And Ashe had asked him why he was there, as if the prospect of treasure was not enough. If Penelo should ever ask him again, he'd doubted that she accept the same answer, but then again, her predicament was of another sort altogether. For who would want to spend time with a Soul-Eater. Indeed, he did not think he could explain it, even to himself.

Balthier had never been particularly sympathetic towards the Viera, nor their Wood. It seemed altogether too totalitarian for his tastes. But standing here, on top of what would seem the world; the dark sky above, surrounded by the lights of the village, and beyond that, the extraordinary forest that was the Golmore Jungle, he could indeed conceive why Fran missed it from time to time.

But where was one supposed to start looking? It was a small village, but hard to navigate in the dark, made harder still by all the little levels and strange paths. He could only assume that Penelo had passed the same way as the others, and so he began his ascent towards the topmost level. He could spot no one, but still had an image of angry Viera-eyes following him, watching over his every movement. Their claim to being harmonious, serene creatures was certainly not true in his experience. Penelo seemed more like a Viera than some of the fierce women he'd seen in this village.

As he made his way upwards, halting for a moment at a fork, endeavoring (and not succeeding) to find the right path, he was surprised to hear a voice in the dark, believing he'd been alone.

"You will not find them, they have all gone to sleep."

Upon turning, he found it was Lente that spoke, easily recognizable by her hair, and also by being the only good-mannered creature of her kind, save Fran, of course.

"And Penelo?"

"Your creature and my sister are conversing alone. They will not be disturbed."

"Conversing, you say? Or is it more like an interrogation?"

No, it would not appear that he was to be shunned like Penelo, but rather to be ignored altogether. He, who had once been indispensable. Had they not implored his presence, begging him to come along, so much so that Ashe had even given him her treasured ring. Perhaps that was a low point, even for him, but this was completely out of order.

"And what is your conclusion then? Is Penelo worthy of passage, or is she even below us Humes?"

She knew he was angry, but then he did not conceal it very well.

"You care for music?"

"What?"

"Your are restless. If you can no longer sleep, join us. I am certain the others will not mind."

He had no notion as to what she was talking about, but whatever it was, he was quite certain that they would mind, but then again, he was not in the habit of denying a beautiful girl anything. But neither was he to be dissuaded so easily. Perhaps seduction would be the way to weasel out some answers. And so he followed her, descending the steps, towards the gathering of the Viera.

II

The image of serene beauties that wandered the woods, carefully cultivated over years and years, where indeed a faulty one. He knew they did not sleep, but he'd always imagined their nighttime-activities to be rather dull; something akin to stargazing for hours and philosophizing in candlelight. Fran certainly had her moments. But as they rounded the trunk, descending into the gathering area that made up the center of the village, he soon learned that this was not true.

They where all there it would seem; that is, all the Viera inhabitants. None of the party-members seemed to be present, not even Vaan, who, with his customary tactlessness, would probably consider this paradise. And it was indeed a pleasant view; they had all gathered round a fire, rather like a camp-sight. Everyone nonchalantly stern about, chatting, eating, and some where indeed playing musical instruments.

The sounds of easy companionship, the music and the laughter, was almost enough to cancel out the bird song and chirping from the dark. In the warm light from the fire, they looked almost friendly, their moon pale hair shimmering collectively. One, a young girl with a harp, was even so daring as to tilt her head back with laughter, letting her long hair cascade down her back.

This must surely be a unique insight into this hidden society, an opportunity any scientist would kill for, including his father. Balthier had not inherited this trait, but was contented with being pulled into the festivities by Lente, who pushed him down on an available bit of trunk, and handed him a platter of leafs and the like.

"Do not fret, Penelo will be back soon."

Balthier did not know that he did fret, or at least, that it was so clearly visible. Nevertheless, he was grateful for her consideration. Still, he decided not to tell, plunking a bit of greenery from his plate; it tasted surprisingly sweet.

"I do not think I'm the one who has to worry."

"Penelo will not attack now, we're all quite safe."

"And how do you know?"

"The Wood protects us."

As he asked, it did not occur to him that she might provide an actual answer. He'd assumed her to be as complacent with this as with everything else. But it would seem she was quite certain; Penelo could do no harm while being rained by the forest. Perhaps she had not meant it so literal, but he was willing to grasp at any hold offered to him. And with this, he did feel a decided shift inside himself, if that was the way to put it. There was no easy way to describe his bond to Penelo. What had started out as mere guilt must now, he realized, have progressed further, to something far more.

"You intrigue me. How so?"

But she only shook her head, smiling, eating a leaf.

"I suspect the others will tell you soon enough."

"As the wood told you?"

He had never truly grasped how this connection worked, but there would seem that any Viera had an almost verbal connection to this forest, and so, it would not be such a silly thing to assume. She made no reply, but tilted her face upwards, confirming his suspicion that the Vieras where apt stargazers. Around them people still seemed set on ignoring his presence, continuing their enthused chatter.

"Have you any experience then, with her condition?"

But she remained silent. There was a slight compulsion to seize her shoulders and shake them, to force forth an answer. Did she not understand that these where things of importance. Detrimental, possibly catastrophic. He did not yet know whether he'd made the right choice. He did not even know what sort of influence Penelo held, only that he had irreversibly changed, alongside her. And yet, to Lente, the starts where more important at the moment.

Perhaps he would have shaken her, or at the very least shouted. But at that moment, Penelo appeared, descending the stairs, and looking, for the first time in a long time, calm. She did not see him where he sat, but passed through the crowd, down the path to their hut.

As he rose to follow her, Lente did not divert her eyes for a moment. He put down his plate and thanked her, but still she did not move. As he walked away, she offered her final words.

"The wood would not have parted with her for anyone less worthy."

III

During his way over, his mind conjured many a quip, a casual greeting, seemingly automatic. And so when he came up to the door-frame, he was prepared with any number of remarks. But when he saw her he fell silent. Not so much stunned into muteness, as rather sensing that this was not the time for chatter. It would not suit. No, much better then to step across the threshold in silence, nodding his hello, letting the flap close soundlessly behind him.

There was of course a curiosity, a need to know what she'd learned. But then again, he might be told something he did not want to know. At any rate, he did not know how to ask, but would rather wait for her to size the word.

"Did you not get your own bed?"

She turned, looking mild but stern all at the same time. The comment surprised him so that it took a moment to understand. But of course, she had been a sleep all the while, and when awaking, she must have been surprised to find herself in his arms, as it where.

"No, I did not," he replied at last. It was the truth after all. "In fact, I have been studiously ignored. They seem to regard me as some sort of carrier-chocobo. But the bed is not so small, you will have to put up with me."

"A gentleman would sleep on the floor."

"Have they not told you? I am not a gentleman. Besides, I thought you liked pirates."

She did not object further, but smiled, shaking her head. Still, her optimistic humor encouraged him; there must have been good news.

She sat down on the bed, her fingers unfastening the buckle of her boot with slow deliberation. The smile was gone, and she looked ponderous but did not speak.

"Is there something on your mind?"

She did not stop, but her movements slowed down as she considered.

"The men, where they bounty-hunters?"

"Yes."

He saw no point in lying, thought it might be wise not to upset her.

"Do not fret thought, they where unskilled and no match for us. No hunter in his right mind would dare approach us as it is, so you're quite safe."

Safe was decidedly not the right word, but he had spoken it now, and could not take it back.

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?"

And she did look genuinely upset, her hands, done with the buckles at last, lying limp in her lap. Her face was obscured with hair, so he could not see her expression, but she certainly appeared smaller, slighter, her shoulders sagging, and he had an uncomfortable suspicion that she was crying. Yet when she spoke, though her voice was but a whisper, it rang clear, not distorted by grief as he had feared.

"I don't think I should... I think my traveling days are over," she whispered, nudging her shoulders as if this was some not so very important thought she'd spontaneously conjured. "I'm a danger to everybody. And... and I'm tired..."

These where not her words, but the poisonous honey of lies that Yote had dripped into her ears. Balthier, not prone to rashness, felt his body tense in a display of anger, and if he was not mistaken, protectiveness. How curious, he who'd always kept true to his solipsistic nature.

"This is what she told you? That you could remain here, in the forest to decay like scattered leafs? Or grow as bitter as her?"

She did not hear him as he crossed the room. He gave silent thanks to a certain Dalsmacan duke, while crouching down in front of her, resuming the task she'd abandoned, of divesting her of her footwear.

"I will not pretend to know you that well, but you do not belong in this place. In the shadows and mysticism that shrouds it. You would grow bored, you would waste away, as Fran did. You need the sun and the skies, and to laugh in abandon without angry glances."

"You're right, you don't know me."

It was a childish comment, but than it was not so long ago that she'd been a child. Though perhaps less the untainted girl he'd spied on in the Salika Wood, he found she was remarkably unchanged in every other aspect. Contented and pure, and so very infatuated with him. He had lost yet another memory when they'd kissed, or so Fran had told him. What would another kiss cost?

As if she'd read every thought flickering past his eyes, she looked up; her cheeks where dry, but here eyes full of sorrow. He lifted his hand then, and stroked away the few strands of hair plastered to her cheeks with careful deliberation, enjoying the change as the soft pink colour, suddenly grew strong.

And if they should do more than kiss, how much would that cost? But he could worry about that later, and take things in their proper order.

She had known all along what he was about to do, and her lips meet his, a little too rushed, not perfectly placed, but her enthusiasm was encouraging all the same. She had been thinking about this moment, he could tell. The way her dainty little fingers stroked through his hair, her careful movements; they where all part of fulfilling her fantasy. Yet she had not predicted it, when he pushed her down, back towards the mattress. Staring at him for a moment, as though affronted, he was sized with the thought that he'd gone to far, and would now taste her revenge.

"Don't worry. I can't do anything now," she whispered, and he was pleased to note she was a little out of breath. "The forest controls me."

This should surely be the moment to stop, to ask her what she meant by that. But Balthier had not earned his reputation by consideration and high morals. Her gray lashes cast gray shadows, her pale skin looked like that of porcelain in the blue light. He kissed her again, and this time it went better, her lips yielding, opening with a sweet little sigh.

Her kisses clung to him; on the mouth, cheeks, neck, as if her lips where not merely skin, but of some other material altogether, as if they wanted to absorb the flesh they touched, devouring it, not satisfactory with modest intimacy, and he suspected her love was of a passionate kind.

But there was an excitement, this danger, unlike anything he'd ever had. Even though she claimed she could not attack him, her urgency and abandon did not make him feel safe. Not that he needed to.

He divested of his vest and shirt quickly enough, enjoying the sensation of her cool fingertips running across his back, inspecting every dip and mound. This in turn made it difficult for him to remove the one-piece she wore. Furthermore, he did not seem able to find it's fastenings. This was the very first time he'd been defeated by a piece of clothing. She only giggled, pushing him back, and showing him the clasps at the side. She did, on the whole, seem quite at ease. That was, until, he removed the leathery outfit, and she was almost naked, only a thin blouse and her underwear to protect her modesty.

Perhaps there was something bittersweet in the lust, but he would waste no time in analyzing it. Soon they where naked; Penelo blushing violently now, a delightful pink, and it occurred to him that this, which for him only seemed natural, might for her be uncomfortable, even scary. Seeing her like that, he came to wonder if she was happy; he hardly knew what he felt himself, apart from the obvious, of course.

He lay down, on his back, so that she might sit astride him. She caught on soon enough, though he was certain this was her first time; her face shadowed with pain, though only for a moment, as he slid into that flesh of that most strange combination of soft and tight. There was something that parted and gave way, and then he was fully inside her.

Balthier had always considered Penelo cute rather than pretty, but now, as her pace quickened, he was stricken with her beauty; a flaming sort, like that of an angry sun. He kissed her hands, her little fingers, putting one of them into his mouth; tasting it, sucking it, gazing at that beauty through half-closed lids.

A thin film of sweat gathered upon her heaving breasts, and he was quite contented lying there, watching her, but his body soon demanded more. He's need grew with her speed, and soon he'd clasped her thighs, holding them tight.

With a final sigh, her muscles clenched down on him, determinately finishing him, and he came soon after, closing his eyes, letting his body ride through the motions. Then it was over.

As she lay down next to him, she was almost too hot, as that of super-human warmth, but he did not waste too much time mulling it over. He could feel sleep approaching, and welcomed it, feeling as though his body sank further into the mattress. It was then, with his mind somewhere between consciousness and sleep, that she spoke.

"Balthier..." she whispered, "why did you come with me?"

Balthier would not remember in the morning, but he simply spoke the first thing that came to mind. Perhaps that was honesty?

"Only because I wanted to."


End file.
